


Those with Ruinous Envy

by DawnedOnMe33



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abuse, Female Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Flashbacks, Gen, Golden Deer, Golden Deer Byleth, Hurt/Comfort, I'm pretty mean to Sylvain in this one, Kidnapping, Mild Gore, No Incest, Other, POV Multiple, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers, Sylvain Jose Gautier Needs A Hug, Sylvain backstory, Those Who Slither in the Dark, Whump, crest angst, crest experiments, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 134,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnedOnMe33/pseuds/DawnedOnMe33
Summary: (An AU where Miklan joins Those Who Slither in the Dark)After Miklan steals the Lance of Ruin, he attracts the attention of a dangerous group, people who promise to give him everything he ever wanted... for a troubling price. Meanwhile, Sylvain travels to the Gautier Margravate with the order to bring Miklan down, unaware that he is walking directly into a trap.This is the story of the Sons of Gautier and the collateral damage their feud has caused for Faerghus— and for the other students of Garreg Mach.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Miklan
Comments: 119
Kudos: 227





	1. Beyond Repair

**Author's Note:**

> I keep getting whumpy fanart of Sylvain on my twitter feed and it was making me want to write a dark fic. Like lol Blue Lions isn’t even my main house, man. But I will admit, they’ve got the most tragedy to explore. 
> 
> So enjoy! This will start in Miklan’s pov then start swap to Sylvain’s. Also this is my AU and I choose to conveniently ignore canon when I need to. So just accept. (don’t worry, it’ll probably be minor things having to do with Slither and how magic in this universe works).
> 
> Finally, I'm always so bad at starting fanfic or anything I release chapter by chapter!! I am a person who needs to see how things will work out and that's hard to do for me in serialized work. My pacing is so weird and fast until I get a feel for the story. I hope it doesn't get too bad for people and put everyone off. Let me know. T.T.

“I wish to speak with my father!”

With malice, Miklan eyed the guard, someone he didn't recognize. The Gautiers probably hired him after Miklan left the mansion— but that hardly changed anything. These soldiers were all the same, like carpenter ants who busied themselves with their service to the margrave, keeping their heads down and doing their jobs.

“You need to then go through the proper procedures,” insisted the guard. He was shorter than Miklan, but still seemed to look down upon him. 

“I’m his son!!”

At this point, Miklan was sure his voice was carrying up through the frosted glass windows, all open to accept the breeze. Good. Maybe his parents or brother would hear him. Surely, they’d want to shut him up… No, wait. Miklan ground his teeth. Wasn’t Sylvain away at school? Recently, someone in town had mentioned that the heir of Gautier had been accepted to that ritzy military academy owned by the Church of Seiros. That hearsay hadn’t surprised Miklan; it had only kindled the hatred that never seemed to peter out of his chest. 

“You are no longer associated with this house. So you must follow policy and—”

“Miklan?”

A quiet voice slipped in between the guard and bandit’s heated exchange. Miklan sighed before looking towards the stairs to see his mother slowly approaching them.

She hadn’t changed much in the past year; she still wore her fiery hair (a gift she’d passed down to both her sons) in a thick fishtail dotted with violets. And, of course, she still wore the long, blue velvet dresses she was so known for. Only something in her gaze seemed different… there was a certain loneliness in her eyes that gave Miklan a cruel prick of hope.

That hope only lasted for a moment.

 _She misses Sylvain…_ Miklan realized. 

Their mother had never mistreated Miklan, not like their father did. She was a composed, introverted woman— too mellow to ever ignite an argument. Throughout Miklan’s childhood, she always did what mothers needed to. She made sure he had clean clothes and healthy food— ensured his comfort and survival. But she never said a word about how his father treated him, never protested. Instead, she would retreat to her room, taking Sylvain with her. Her youngest son was more like a treasure than a boy to her. Miklan vividly recalled how she looked at him, in such a way as if to say “well, even if the world ends today, at least I made you.” When all their lives seemed to be cracking, spider-webbing like shattered glass… she used Sylvain like her one proof that things would turn out all right. 

She didn’t care where Miklan would end up. 

He sighed. _Still… if things were up to her, I wouldn’t have been disowned. I’ll grant her that._

“I’m sorry Lady Phoebe. He won’t listen to me.”

“That’s all right. There’s no reason we can’t speak with him now.” She gestured towards the steps. “Walk with me, Miklan? Your father is in the study.”

Miklan couldn’t help but shoot the guard a petty smirk as they passed by. Right when he and his mother were out of earshot, he said,

“I’m surprised you still refer to him as my father.”

She stared off into the hallway, at some vague space. 

“I suppose I don’t even know what that term really means anymore.” She shook her head slowly. “He and I bore you. That forever makes us your parents.”

“Even if you don’t act like it,” finished Miklan bitterly.

She glanced up at him briefly. 

“I believe that things were poorly handled. You were not fit to be the heir to our house. That is just how House Gautier functions. But erasing you from our bloodline… that was not necessary.”

Though, he could have argued with part of that statement, he focused on his most important question.

“Then why did you let it happen?”

She wrung the side of her dress.

“Your father is the head of the house. Not me. Besides that, the conversation had grown too messy. I did not want to involve myself or Sylvain. I do not particularly trust you where he is concerned.”

Miklan laughed coldly. “You think I would hurt him?”

Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Miklan, we are beyond this conversation. We all know of your attempts to get rid of him.” 

Shrugging, Miklan said, “I never needed for him to _die_ , just to disappear. And whose fault was that?” Inwardly, he knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful, but he wanted to see how far he could press his mother. He wished to see if he could drag out even a sliver of compassion.

“It was fate’s fault,” she answered smoothly. “I do not blame you for how you were born. But I must be realistic. You are not an asset to this family. Not in the way Sylvain is.” When she saw his posture stiffen, she quickly added, “Please, we have had this conversation before. Let us not fight.”

Releasing a breath, Miklan closed his eyes. They were nearing the study and part of him wanted to cool off, prepare for his talk with his father. But he had one last question.

“I hear Sylvain was sent to school.”

Lady Phoebe flinched. “Yes. Garreg Mach. Your father’s idea.”

“It’s a good school. You would have kept him here?”

“I… there are ways to educate him from home.”

Miklan didn’t respond. He waited for his mother to swing open the double oak doors of the study before trailing in behind her.

Margrave Gautier stood at a tactics table by an arched window that fractured the light as it streamed through the glass. He bent over maps and figurines, murmuring to himself and periodically tapping the curve off his pocket watch against the table. Finally, he looked up. His jaw tightened when he saw Miklan.

“You,” he said curtly.

“Please,” said Phoebe. “Let us speak cordially. Aren’t you tired of bickering, Florizel?”

“Darling, he’s a common brigand.”

“I understand but…” She trailed off, crumbling under the pressure as she normally did.

“I’ll make things quick,” said Miklan. He approached his father. “I wish to try my luck in Leicester. I don’t imagine they’re _too_ different from the fools here in Faerghus but, hey, they rid themselves of spoiled kings and queens at least. So maybe I can find a place there.” 

“I see,” said Margrave Gautier slowly. “And why should I care what you do and where you go?”

“You don’t have to. I just intend to buy up land there. And I want my inheritance for that.”

The margrave’s face brightened into a furious garnet hue.

“You impudent boy.” He straightened. “Do you intend to insult me or are you simply ignorant as to what disownment entails?”

Miklan held his ground. “Sylvain is getting your title, your legacy, and almost everything you possess. Give me something. If I had been born a girl, I would have had a dowry. So why not that much?” It embarrassed Miklan to make such a comparison-- he hated to do it-- but he needed points in his favor. “And if you agree, I’ll be out of your hair forever.”

His father scowled. “Why not just steal it from some poor soul? You’ve proven to have no morals stopping you.”

“I certainly could. But I..." Miklan trailed off. He couldn't quite explain out loud why he'd come here. Something in him longed for it— just some small sign that he'd ever been born into nobility. And, besides that, the idea of gaining success with only a fraction of his parent's wealth seemed like a worthy goal. If his father simply agreed, he would not mind trying to make something of himself with tenacity alone, at least for a little while.

Holding his father’s stare, Miklan swallowed. His heart hiccuped a bit and his eyes wandered to the tactics table and fell on the shape that represented Leichester. Of course, they had a culture of nobles as well. But their peasants had more agency than the common folk of Faerghus or Adrestia seemed to have. What's more, Miklan had heard rumors about the Alliance heir… nothing solid, but more than a few whispers about his unconventionality. That gave Miklan just a little hope that maybe things could change. Hopefully, the old dastard of a Sovereign Duke would kick the bucket soon so Miklan would get a answer about this mysterious heir’s plans for the Alliance.

“I… I have no objection,” said Phoebe. “Enough bullion worth a dowry is reasonable. Let us just—” 

“No.” Florizel Gautier’s dark eyes lanced through Miklan. “You are no more than a commoner now. You have no grounds for any demands.”

That statement would have made Miklan angry enough, but what came next all but set him ablaze, fired him up and suffocated him as though he were in a wicker-man. 

His father laughed. 

“It was a foolish thought, anyhow. There is nothing special about you, Miklan, but your name. And I have revoked that.”

“Goddess damn you!”

Miklan’s roar thundered across the study. Beside him, his mother jumped back against a bookcase, watching both men with frantic blue eyes. 

“You can’t speak to me like that in my own home." The margrave watched Miklan with a predatory gaze.

“Will you just listen?!” yelled Miklan. “Listen, instead of basing every damn thing on the pride of this house! I hate you— I really do hate you! I hate you and I hate mother and I hate Sylvain! And you all hate me— I get it. It’s as Mother said, aren’t you tired about bickering over it?! The fact is, I _am_ your son by blood. You brought me into this world!” His voice quieted at that. “You made me and no one can change that now. Fine. Let’s part ways, but the least you can do is take some damn responsibility.”

The room took on a palpable silence. Phoebe Gautier had covered her mouth with her hands, watching. Miklan could not tell what part of his little explosion had affected her the most. Was it that he said that he hated her? Or perhaps that he dared to say that he hated Sylvain? It didn’t matter… Though he couldn’t bring himself to love his mother, Miklan could at least look at her and keep some grasp on his temper. He knew, at least, that if she’d been less flaky, she would readily give him whatever he asked for. 

“Get out,” said the margrave at last. “You're right. It’s time we permanently part ways. Instead of giving you inheritance, I’ll pardon you for your rudeness and not have you imprisoned.”

“You—”

“Leave!”

Miklan’s eyes widened when his father’s crest bloomed in the air in front of his chest. The bandit knew that commoners had overpowered nobles before. Crests did not necessarily determine victor— but they certainly gave advantages. Miklan’s stomach turned as the light of the crest brightened. He grit his teeth.

“I will. But I hope you suffer for this.”

Florizel raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything further as Miklan stomped past his mother and out of the study. He tore past the guard, not stopping to see if the man returned his smug glance from earlier. Miklan just needed to run, to burn off steam. He kept his head down as he did, not noticing a shrouded figure watching him with interest from only a few yards away...

  
  


Miklan was a ball of rage when he returned back to Conand Tower. His men, who usually navigated past his touchy topics with ease, were at a loss. Finally, they ventured to ask for the details. Unable to choke down his anger any longer, Miklan stormed over to a barrel of ale and scooped out a tall mug of the frothy alcohol, and told his men the whole story as he drank.

“They're scum,” he muttered after he’d finished. “I hope they all die.”

“Yeah. The less pretentious nobles in this world, the better,” said one of the thieves— a man named Philip. “Even when ya try ta level with ‘em, they only want things all their way. You’re better without ‘em. Their loss, our gain.”

Smiling briefly at his friend’s words, Miklan glanced up from his mug. He rustled the back of his choppy orange hair and watched his reflection in a puddle. Philip was right, he was better off being a brigand. At least he could put his talents to use here. Here, people appreciated him and yet… every time he saw himself, he saw what he’d lost— what was stolen. There in front of him was his mother’s vibrant hair, his father’s cruel jawline, and— most of all— Miklan saw Sylvain. He was a more weathered, older version of his little brother. In most worlds, that would make him superior but…

“Hey,” said another thief, a man named Buxton, perhaps sensing Miklan’s mood darkening. “How about we pillage a village? That’s always a good time. Let’s bring something to start some fires with.”

Miklan considered that, but somehow that suggestion didn’t bring him the glee it normally would. At the moment, the villagers weren’t worth his efforts. No, he needed to commit an even larger crime, ruin something precious, steal something valuable. He needed to do something that would bring his father some suffering as quickly as possible…

“The Lance of Ruin,” Miklan said at last. When Philip, Buxton, and the others looked at him questioningly, he continued. “House Gautier was entrusted with a Hero’s Relic by the archbishop herself. It’s kept in a shrine to the goddess. Father intends to eventually give it to my brother. But what if we took it? And trashed the shrine? The archbishop would panic and Father would be held responsible.”

His gang mulled over the idea for only a moment or two before they all began to warm up to it. They murmured excitedly among each other. 

“We’re really going to steal a Hero’s Relic?” said Philip. He said nothing more but a thrill lit his eyes. Just thinking about taking a relic was deemed blasphemy by the Church. If anyone actually managed to do it… 

“They’d execute us,” said Buxton. He raised an eyebrow. “ _If_ we get caught. But imagine if we didn’t; imagine how crazy they’d go.”

Miklan smirked. “Exactly. Hopefully, you could get a bonus out of it too. These old shrines tend to have gold or silver we can strip.”

If anyone had been unsure, at the mention of gold, all their reservations melted. All Miklan had left to do was select a date and a time.


	2. Beyond Holy Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might post another chapter later today or tomorrow. The corona virus has me trapped at home with little to do.
> 
> I'm mostly just wanting to get to where Sylvain gets involved in this shit.

For this operation, Miklan needed the cover of night. Though he enjoyed committing many of his crimes under the sun, where everyone could see, this particular crime needed to be treated with as much caution as possible. Buxton was correct; doing something like this _would_ make the Church of Seiros crazy. Miklan was placing them all on the other end of that madness. 

Just after midnight, they set out towards the shrine. Those skilled with bows carried crossbows, each with poison-tipped bolts. These were for the few guards stationed outside the entrance, hidden poorly among the pine trees. With three quick shots, each soldier fell and, after another few seconds, the effects of the poison took hold, spreading paralysis through every muscle. 

_Thump, thump, thump…_

“Did we miss one?” asked Miklan, bringing a hunting knife in front of his face. His men scoured the area but saw no one else in the dark. One of the fallen soldiers groaned softly, his voice briefly mixing in with a chorus of crickets. Miklan tread across the ground, snapping the frost crystals that so frequently formed on Faerghus grass at night.

“I thought I heard unfamiliar footsteps,” he said at last. “Someone didn’t sound like they belonged.”

“It’s amazing you know what we should sound like together,” said Philip. “But you probably made a mistake. Someone took an odd step.”

“Maybe…” Still, Miklan remained on alert and led his men past the paralyzed guards, tipping an invisible hat as the incapacitated men watched him with startled gazes. He thought he saw the guard from before among them, the one who refused his entrance into the mansion. Miklan chuckled.

Past the doors of the shrine, was a deep staircase which led to a large chamber.

“This is enormous,” said Philip, rotating to take it all in. He and Miklan headed towards the far end of the room, allowing the others to stream in. Just as Miklan had predicted, gold and silver decorated the whole cavern. Even the floor had been gilded with several large shimmering circles which all bore the crest of Seiros. Glittering beneath magic lamps stood dozens of expensive icons of the saints; they repeated in a pattern along the wall. Miklan recognized two of them from books his mother had given to him and Sylvain when they were younger— the statues of the girl with the caduceus had to be Saint Cethleann, known for her tenderness and healing. Miklan knew she had a father… 'Keyhole' or something like that? Then there were two more: Macuil and Indech. But Miklan could never keep those two straight. 

Finally, Miklan spotted a statue of the fifth and final saint. Seiros. She was pretty unforgettable. Her statue was at the very end and rose nearly ten feet off the floor, with the long arms extended out towards a large, ruby-embezzled casket before her. 

“That's it,” said Miklan. “The Lance of Ruin.”

“Well, go grab it.” Buxton reached down and snatched one of the Indech-or-Macuil statues. “We’ll clear out these things. Wow, they’re heavy.” He tossed it up and back down into his palm with a light _smack_. 

Miklan approached the casket. He studied the engravings for a moment. They were an ancient language he couldn’t read, but he wondered if they were something of an epitaph. This was a casket after all.

 _Why keep a lance like this?_ he couldn’t help but wonder. It was just a holy object, not a corpse. 

“Ain't it kinda spooky that there were no other traps or guards,” he heard Philip say from somewhere behind him. 

“Not something to complain about,” said one of the other thieves gruffly.

“I know… but…”

Miklan raised the casket cover just enough to see something shining within the box’s velvet exterior. With one strong heave, he shoved the lid all the way off. It toppled to the floor; the powerful thud thundered through the chamber a few moments as Miklan inspected the contents of the casket. Within, the lance lay just as Miklan had expected. Suddenly exposed, it began to lose its glow and fade to a dull off-yellow color. 

At the exact moment Miklan grasped the weapon, someone yelped. Miklan whirled to see one of his men leap off a golden crest circle on the floor. The symbol had begun to spin and glow just like the others around it, throwing white light to all corners of the cavern. Quickly, the light condensed into columns and sprung from the symbols. That light solidified into four stone giants that rattled and roared. In appearance, they were concerningly similar to iron maidens— the same cylindrical bodies and weeping faces. Miklan shuttered at the thought that one of them might open up and swallow him into its spiked insides. 

“What in Nemesis’ name?!” said Buxton, stepping back. “What are those things?!”

“Get away from them!” Miklan dashed down the steps, grasping his newly obtained lance in both hands. “Make an outer circle! Get rid of our blind spots.”

They did as he’d asked and Miklan tried to keep calm. Despite his firm, commanding tone and quick action, he had no idea what to make of these metal giants. What were they even capable of? Inwardly, he cursed himself for not taking Philip’s concerns seriously. Of course there would be security in a place like this. And, if not more guards, then traps. 

The giants surged forward and, in their hands, what looked to be spears of lightning appeared. They launched these spears which exploded, one narrowly missing Philip. Miklan could sense his men, even the more serious ones, begin to panic.

“Form groups!” he ordered, trying to look as though he had a plan.

Miklan and the two men nearest to him charged one of the giants which had begun to rattle again. It swung an arm, catching a man and slamming him to the floor. Miklan darted forward and raised the Lance of Ruin. The giant tossed a small bolt of lightning and the surface of the lance deflected most of the magic. 

Though his subordinates were capable of dodging and shifting formation at Miklan’s command, they found that their weapons weren’t doing much against the creatures’ bodies. Only the Lance of Ruin contributed any significant damage, but Miklan could barely keep up with the four sentinels on his own.

 _The armor is magic-infused. We need to retreat_ , thought Miklan. _The giants might not fit through the doors_. 

But, before he could make the order, several giants began to power up at once. 

“Get ready!” shouted Miklan. 

But the attacks were halted.

A blur of vivid purple light shot towards the center of the room. Miklan prepared for another attack, a new spear that had been thrown from who knows where. But this burst formed into something else, just as the white light had before. Within a few seconds, a woman stood at the center of the cavern. 

Her orange hair was a few shades lighter than Miklan’s and her skin was so pale that he wondered if she was truly alive or some undead creature— like from the kinds of legends parent used to scare children into behaving. The woman’s outfit was a shiny, black material Miklan couldn’t place. She wore no armor, but three large stingers extending from the fabric on her back provided enough defense. 

She laughed and charged one of the giants. Twin swords in her hands cut through the metal like flesh, leaving a trail of bright black light. Without wasting another second, she began to dispatch the others in the same manner. Miklan knew she was enjoying herself— her eyes never narrowed and she fought quickly and erratically, spinning and hopping. Even the lightning didn’t seem to phase her. Finally, she tossed a blade towards Miklan. It missed his shoulder by inches and plunged into the helmet of the final giant. The stone creature shook and then crumbled to the stone.

The woman giggled then approached Miklan. Her heels clacked across the floor as the men watched her, stunned. She passed them and pulled her sword from the fallen giant with a short, clean tug.

Then, the woman spoke to Miklan breathlessly. 

“Now _that_ is how you kill,” she said. “Though… it’s much more fun when your targets are flesh and blood, of course.”

Miklan glanced at one of the fallen giants. The woman’s sword had all but torn it in half. He turned his attention back to her.

“What kind of weapon did you use?”

Surprise widened her eyes even farther. She tilted her head for a moment, sizing him up. Then she let out another fractured laugh.

“Straight to the weapons, huh? You’re not going to ask what those things were or who I am? Just the weapons… I knew I liked you!” She settled down for a moment, just watching Miklan with amusement. “Those things are golems,” she said finally. “You're all lucky that they only use the smaller ones in places like this. The most dangerous models are tasked with protecting Garreg Mach. They’re the archbishop’s little secret. But my swords are made special, technology most of you would lose your minds trying to figure out.” She reached forward and pointed the hilt towards Miklan.

He took it. He’d never felt a sword so light before. Still, he knew it was sturdy and sharp. He felt as though he could cleave a grown man in half within the span of a blink. Violent light flowed across his hands, invigorating him.

“I don’t suppose you’re willing to sell this?”

She smirked. “Sell? No. But I am willing to work out a deal. A partnership?”

Miklan studied her incredulously.

“With me? Why? And who are you?”

Bowing shortly, she said. “I am Kronya. A member of a group which operates in Fodlan’s shadows. When I was told to take the Lance of Ruin, I certainly didn’t expect that you all would already be here. Call it curiosity, but I wanted to see if some common bandits could manage. So I watched.” 

_That footstep I heard… there really was someone following us…._

Kronya seemed to read his mind. “I was impressed that you actually detected me. And your instincts are quite good for some thief.” She eyed the Lance of Ruin. “I'm glad you didn’t manage to activate that thing. You don’t want to know what that will do to someone without a crest.”

Miklan’s men shifted nervously at that statement. He sucked his teeth, once again surveying the damaged golems. 

“I see… so what do you want with me, exactly?”

“Come with me,” she told him. “And give me the lance. If you do, my people and I will give you all the things you want.” She raised the sword that she still held. “Relics, crests, crest stones… Trust me, they’re all much more valuable in _our_ hands. But if you come work for me, I’ll make it worth it. And besides your skill… there’s something else that interests me about you. But we can talk about that later. What do you say?”

 _Crests…_ that had stuck out to Miklan. Perhaps his father’s rejection was still too fresh in his head, but he couldn’t help but ask,

“Do you know… a lot about crests?”

Kronya extended a hand. “More than your kind do."

At that moment, Miklan had made up his mind. He wanted to accept this woman's offer, but he had one last thing to tie up…

“And my men?”

She glanced around at them, almost as if seeing them for the first time. “Oh. They can wait for you. I assume you have a base of some kind?”

He nodded. “Philip. Take everyone back.”

“I… of course.” The bandit watched Kronya with a frown. “If you’re sure about this… I’m not sure if it feels right....”

Miklan waved him off. As much as he liked Philip, the man was starting to become a nuisance. 

“It’s fine. We’ll just talk. Go back to Conand Tower. I’ll see you later.” 

And with those parting words, Miklan shifted the black sword into the hand that also held the lance. He grasped Kronya’s outstretched fingers; they were ice cold even through his gloves, again, he wondered if she had a pulse. The cavern around them began to melt and swirl, blending everything into a purple vortex.

Then the world vanished. 

“Where are we?” wondered Miklan as he followed Kronya. 

He didn’t understand their surroundings; they were so strange and cold. Everywhere he turned, he saw the same dark metal— they were in a whole city of it. Kronya led him through the labyrinth, the blue glow of the buildings turning her white skin a muted cobalt color. Together, they turned a corner and descended a flight of stairs which hummed with energy. Miklan almost jumped when he peered down into the floor below and saw a large, dormant beast on the paneled floor.

Kronya cackled. 

“It’s a titanus. They’re similar to golems. Don’t worry. This one is turned off.” She laced her fingers and pressed her palms outward until her knuckles cracked. “As for your question, this is Shambhala. The land we were banished to.”

Miklan knew he was projecting onto her when he began to empathize. He didn’t know her situation in the slightest. But he could only imagine her as the unwanted daughter of some rich household. Sent away for something beyond her control.

“Who banished you?” he asked. Kronya led him to a door with no handle. He watched with interest as she pressed what looked like a hard square of paper to it. The slab slid open slowly. 

“The Nabateans.” Then, lowly, she said, “Dragons.”

“Dragons…” Miklan knew that she must be talking about something more intelligent than a wyvern or a beast. He’d heard tales of the dragons of yore, massive creatures that reigned as gods over the land. They were powerful, wise, cunning, and unpredictable— superior to humans in every way, according to the Church. And, as gods, they bestowed gifts and dealt out punishments. 

“Yes. Miklan, they are to blame for your pain. But we’ll change that. We’ll kill them all. Every single one.” Kronya licked her charcoal lips and spun the blade in her hand. It whizzed as it razored through the thin air. 

“The reason for… hold on.” His eyes narrowed. “Where did you pick up my name from.” He hadn’t told it to her yet. As far as she was concerned, he was some skilled bandit who’d dared to go after the Lance of Ruin. If she had simply seen him on the way to steal the lance herself, she would not have known that information.

She tapped one toe against the floor.

“It was an educated guess. Too many things lined up. We keep tabs on all the students at Garreg Mach. A certain Sylvain Gautier attends that academy. Blue Lion House. So, what else would I think when I saw some man who looks just like him slinking about Gautier lands?” She giggled. "I even saw you leave the manor in a huff earlier."

“How much do you know, then?” Miklan felt his hand creep to his hunting knife and a chill trickled down his body, an uncomfortable iciness that made him think that Kronya had noticed the gesture. He stayed composed; he did not intend to kill her. But his trust was waning.

“You were disinherited in favor of that welp. He bares the crest of Gautier and you do not. We were never after you. But your story is too closely intertwined with his not to take notice. After all, he was a candidate for…” she stopped herself and halted mid-step. She spun and faced Miklan. There was a wicked upturn to her lips. Her red eyes scanned him hungrily. “Do you care what happens to your brother?” 

Miklan saw by the cruel rise of her lips that she was not joking or embellishing. Whatever she had in mind for the students of Garreg Mach… it would be torturous. Miklan shook his head.

“Not at all.” 

“Excellent!” They arrived at a room and she held up a hand, asking him to wait. “Let me speak with them first. Then you may come in.”  
  
Miklan almost objected. He’d had enough waiting for others, enough doors slammed in his face. Enough condescending looks. Part of him wanted to shove Kronya aside, but he held back. He’d seen the mess she’d made of those golems. He was not as stupid as a hunk of stone, but… Fighting her at this point seemed unwise. Besides, he’d followed her and placed himself in such a dangerous position because of the value of her promises. Those dark weapons… information on the crests… he couldn’t turn away from all that now.

Kronya disappeared into the room leaving, Miklan to pace about in the flickering hall. Once again, he was an outsider. At least this time, he’d chosen to come here in hopes of power, not because power had been stripped from him.

_Do you care what happens to your brother?_

He replayed those words again. Just what did she want with Sylvain? She certainly didn’t intend to pamper him or recruit him and that comforted Miklan just enough for him to overlook that, once again, his brother’s worth was being shoved in his face. 

Finally, Kronya returned. She ushered him to the final room where three people waited at a table that glowed with the same blue energy as the black buildings. Two of the people were men, both much older than Miklan and with the same milky skin tone as Kronya. The last person was an attractive woman who wore the clothing of a noble. She seemed somehow familiar to Miklan. 

“So this is him,” she said silkily. She crossed her legs exposing one little black shoe. “Oh my. I don’t mean to be rude. I am Lady Cornelia.”

“You?” So that is why she seemed familiar. She was from Faerghus. Lady Cornelia was the great noblewoman who cured the plague and was bathed in power, honor, and riches by the late King Lambert. This made Miklan resent her, but he couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing in a place like this.

“Well, I do have another name. And form.” She gave him a sultry grin. “But I like to keep both of those on a need-to-know basis.” Turning, she said, “Thales, Solon. Introduce yourselves why don’t you?”

The first man raised an eyebrow but said, “I am Thales. Leader of the Agarthans. I welcome you.”

The final man picked up the conversation. “And I am Solon.” He observed the Lance of Ruin before his eyes fell on Miklan. 

Miklan was certain that he feared all these people more than they feared him. But could he be blamed? Cornelia aside, they barely looked like the same species as him. Solon even had mismatched eyes that watched Miklan as if they already knew everything about him, each fiber of who who was— as well as how to unravel those very fibers. 

“Kronya explained your prowess to us,” said Thales. “To think a simple Fodlan man like you would attempt to steal a relic from the Church… That is impressive to say the least. But your tenacity isn’t what is most interesting.” He leaned forward.“Have you ever wanted a crest, Miklan?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Miklan considered his answer. 

“Doesn’t everyone?” he said at last. Then, more suspiciously, he said, “Why?”

“If you temporarily turn over the lance and agree to some tests, it could be a possibility,” said Thales. Miklan’s heart bounced unpleasantly— with a small shock of excitement that he knew he shouldn’t allow himself to feel. He’d come for the weapons Kronya had promised and… for information on the crests, yes. But he’d been hoping for ways to fight them, to be better than them. Was gaining one really possible?

“What’s the catch?” he demanded. “There’s a downside, isn't there?”

“We cannot promise that it is safe or that it will work,” said Solon. His eyes had never wandered off Miklan. “And it requires that you be willing to sacrifice one from your own bloodline.”

Kronya placed a hand on Miklan’s shoulder and he shook it off quickly. She barely acknowledged the act. “Of course, we don’t truly need your consent at this point. You’ve allowed yourself to wander too far from the world above. We could force you. However… If you really have no objections, it would be better to join forces. Easier. From the moment I saw you go after that lance, I thought so.”

Miklan’s heart kept that same painful tempo. 

“You’re truly serious?” he demanded. “You could give me my brother’s crest?”

“That’s the idea,” said Thales. He tapped the table and the surface came to life, surprising Miklan enough to make him hop back. From a safe distance, he watched as the images of two young women appeared on the table. They flickered with an eerie light. “Two of our successful tests. They were crest-bearers to whom we were able to give an additional crest. However, we hope to achieve something even greater now— to be able to shift crests from person to person.”

Miklan grabbed an empty chair and fell into it. The past day and a half spun in his skull— the fight with his father, the decision to take the Lance of Ruin, the golems… and now it led to this astonishing proposition.

“It’s tricky,” admitted Cornelia, tapping her long nails on the table and rippling the image of the two girls. “And a painful process. However, the chances of success will significantly increase if we use two people with similar blood. Once we have that data, we could then try to go about moving crests from unrelated person to person. In the good old days, we had subjects to spare. Now, we must tread lightly.”

“Should this work,” said Solon, “we could gain the upperhand in a war that has yet to start. We could remove Fodlan’s crests from those who act as slaves to Nabateans and gift them to our own supporters.”

Nabateans… there was that word again.

“Like the old dragons,” said Miklan. “Kronya, what did you mean by that before? Are they really still around?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes. I was not kidding when I said they were the root of all your pain.” She slunk around him like a cat until she was facing him. He kept an eye on the three stingers that swayed behind her. “They make Fodlan’s rules. They decide what’s wrong and right and cast those unwanted into darkness!”

Solon nodded. “The dragons are still this world’s arbiters. And they sit at Fodlan’s helm— the Church of Seiros. They are clever. But they cannot conceal themselves from humanity forever.”

Dragons at Garreg Mach, blessing their favored humans, people like Sylvain, and leaving men like him to suffer… Miklan tightly gripped the lance, feeling that ever-present resentment more strongly than ever. If he could truly gain a crest and wipe out these dragons… would he finally wipe out his own stagnant bitterness as well? Could he rearrange Fodlan, putting people like him in the light?

And people like his family into the dark?

“Give me power and tell me what to do,” said Miklan at last, “and I’ll help you do whatever you want. As long as we can destroy House Gautier as soon as possible.”


	3. Beyond the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[[[NOTE: If you read chapter two before I posted this one, go back. It was pretty quick, but I added on to that chapter! It was honestly too short so I broke things up a bit differently.]]]]]
> 
> Obviously crescent sickle is so much more OP in this fic than in game. But that's one of the things I wanted to change. I'm saying that Agarthan weapons are all incredibly dangerous and hard to combat just in order to give Miklan a power increase and an additional reason to stick with Slither.
> 
> Also, the warning applies to this chapter.

Sylvain hadn’t felt more liberated since the day his father sent him to Garreg Mach.

“We. Are. Done!” he cried towards the bright sky, annoying a particularly fat owl which looked at him disapprovingly from her nest. “Freedom for one entire week!! Oh, joyous day!”

Beside him, a blonde girl rolled her eyes and unwrapped a fabric pouch revealing an assortment of butter cookies, the kind her grandmother sent before every major exam. She quickly grabbed cookie after cookie, practically breathing them in before Syvain could even make out the shape of each treat. 

“Aren’t you a little too thrilled for someone who didn’t even train for his tests?”

“Ingrid, you wound me,” he replied. “I worked for this. At nine o’clock. Last night.”

“I can attest to that at least,” said their friend Felix from Sylvain’s other side. “I was there.” He hadn’t been pleased when Sylvain came bursting into the training grounds, eager for a partner to practice swordplay with. 

“Well, now there’s your sleep schedule to think of,” said Ingrid. Sylvain reached over and snatched a cookie, much to her annoyance. 

“Yes, Mother.”

Ashe smiled as he and Mercedes increased their speed to keep up. He'd been more worried about their tests than anyone; after hearing a rumor from a graduated student in town that the archbishop sent students home for poor marks, he'd panic-studied for almost a whole week. At one point, Dimitri had even admitted to hiding from Ashe so that he could avoid the fourth training session that day. This had amused Sylvain; Dimitri was more supportive of training and studying than anyone in their class and was always eager to assist. But it seemed that three workouts with a hysterical Ashe a day was his limit. Now, after every test had concluded and Ashe had received positive marks from each teacher, he was back to his cheerful self. Behind him, Leonie and Lysithea (who had her nose in a grimoire) tried to keep up with his buoyant stride. 

“I think Sylvain probably did well,” said Ashe. “I was with him for lance and reason. Seteth was really impressed with his lance which was no surprise. And his black magic was much better than mine. I think you should really try to take the dark knight qualification exams, Sylvain.”

“I appreciate it, Ashe,” said Sylvain. “I’m just glad you didn’t see me during the bow test.”

“I did!” cut in Leonie. “It was atrocious.”

Leonie was not a mean person. In fact, Sylvain found her quite friendly and driven. But she’d made it a habit to point out his every flaw after the third time he’d accidentally referred to her as “he.” For that, Sylvain hardly blamed himself. If she didn’t want to confuse people, she shouldn’t have cropped her hair so short. At the very least, she could have attempted some makeup. But he kept those thoughts to himself— he didn’t need her on his case any more than she was now.

“May I have a cookie, Ingrid?” asked Lysithea politely. Sylvain smiled, hearing the desperation she tried so hard to hide.

“You may. Thank you for asking.” Ingrid glared at Sylvain before selecting three cookies and placing them in Lysithea’s palm. 

“Are you studying already, Lysithea?” Mercedes asked. “My, aren’t you motivated. We just finished our midterms!” She placed a hand to her cheek in amazement.

“I don’t have time for a break,” said Lysithea. “Claude is throwing a feast in the Golden Deer room this evening and he’s making all the Deer and Professor Byleth come. I need to get in my study time before then. Can you believe it? What nonsense.”

Ingrid stopped, her next cookie in midair. “What do you mean? That sounds incredible!”

Lysithea shrugged, but offered an apologetic glance. “I can sneak you out some meat. As a thank you for the cookies.”

That seemed to content Ingrid, but Sylvain sighed and threw his hands behind his head.

“Claude sounds so fun. Dimitri isn’t as tough as Edelgard— I hear she’s having an official house meeting to discuss performance and improvement plans now— but I don’t know. Dimitri is still so... ”

“Dimitri is still so what?”

Sylvain groaned as the prince appeared beside him, Dedue close behind. Though he didn’t seem truly angry, Dimitri stared at Sylvain expectantly, demanding an answer. 

“You’re just kind of, um, serious sometimes?” 

“I wouldn’t have objected to a party, Sylvain,” said Dimitri, crossing his arms. “I believe we should place our studies above trivialities. But I would not deny you some well-earned leisure.”

“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry, Your Highness.” 

The air took on an awkward tension, just barely enough to kill the momentum of the conversation. Finally, Mercedes spoke up with her perpetually cheerful voice.

“Perhaps we could see about joining the Deer tonight. I’m sure Claude would welcome us if I promised to arrive with sweets. Dedue and Ashe could cook something up too.”

Ashe clasped his hands together excitedly. “I would love to! Dedue, we haven’t cooked together recently. I want to do it again.”

The Duscur man’s eyes briefly lowered towards Ashe. A small, soft smile crept across his face.

“Mm.” He nodded. 

Together, the group discussed the details. Lysithea and Leonie promised to advocate to Claude on the Lion's behalf, and they reminded each other to let Annette, who was helping Byleth wash the blackboards, know. Even Felix seemed to warm up to the idea of a party after Lysithea promised to bring one of her signature cakes, the kind she’d made for those who hated sweets. They planned excitedly until they came to the gazebo and a Church official approached them with enough seriousness in her gaze to silence them all.

“Prince Blaiddyd. The archbishop has called for you.” She turned to lead him away, then said. “Lord Gautier, you best come too.”

Dimitri and Sylvain shared a bewildered glance, unsure of what could involve them both. Ingrid’s brow furrowed. 

“We’ll all be in the Blue Lions room waiting for Annette anyway. Meet us there. Hopefully, everything is okay.”

“Yes,” said Dimitri. “Thank you, Ingrid. We’ll return shortly.”

“Ah, I am glad the nun thought to alert you as well, Sylvain,” said Lady Rhea as they entered the audience chamber. 

Professor Byleth, though assigned to the Golden Deer, stood beside the archbishop along with Seteth and Flayn. Sylvain sensed the tail of some dark conversation still in the air. He slowed his pace and let Dimitri approach Lady Rhea ahead of him.

“Is all well, Lady Rhea?” asked Dimitri as a formality. Clearly, something had happened.

The archbishop's eyes took a moment to shift from the teachers and focus on Dimitri and Sylvain.

“Two nights ago, there was a situation in Faerghus,” Rhea explained. She winced. “We have a report that the Lance of Ruin was taken from the Gautier Shrine. Those present are still recovering from the attack, but many of them have stated that Miklan Gautier was the thief responsible.”

_Miklan…_

Sylvain hadn’t seen his brother for well over a year now. He knew that Miklan had stooped to thievery and other crimes, but this was a new level for him. 

“What are you thinking?” Dimitri asked him quietly. Sylvain opened his mouth, hoping some mature, collected response would simply spawn. When it didn’t, he shook his head and said, 

“He’s been a problem ever since I was young. I know that he’s been through a lot but that doesn’t excuse what he’s done to me or other people. Now he’s stolen from sacred ground… this is a lot.”

Rhea ground her teeth together. Typically, her appearance was serene and disarming. Sylvain even felt sleepy in her presence as he listened to the gentle bobbing of her voice. But now was one of those times where anger poured through the cracks in her peaceful shell. Her hands, knitted into one another, trembled. 

“Seeing that he is the kin of one of the students here, I am willing to offer him some mercy,” she said crossly. “But he must be punished and imprisoned for this blasphemous crime. That holy shrine must be set as it was until Sylvain formally receives the Lance of Ruin as his own.” She sighed. “It is imperative that we retrieve that lance. Those who do not bear crests only cause misfortune for all those around them when they improperly wield such weapons. My dear professor.”

Byleth stepped forward wordlessly. She watched Sylvain as if already formulating what she wished to say to him as soon as they left the chamber. 

“Unfortunately, Claude’s class has already been assigned a different mission for the month,” said Seteth. “But he has agreed that the Blue Lions should borrow Professor Byleth this time. We must quickly solve this situation and her skills will be vital to that end.”

“I thank you,” said Dimitri, bowing to the professor. “And I will speak with Claude later. For now—”

The doors slammed open loud enough to make Flayn cling to Seteth. A priest burst into the audience chamber, face red with strain. He dashed towards them and stopped just short of plowing into Sylvain. He puffed.

“The situation in the Gautier Margraviate has changed!” he cried. “Margrave Gautier’s home was directly attacked last night! I do not know the outcome. They insisted we alert you as soon as possible.”

Sylvain took a step backwards. “My home was… attacked…” 

It was times like these when Dimitri truly showed his skill as a house leader. He stepped forward, reassuring Syvain with only a single, firm glace. Somehow the expression said so much; it asked him to remain calm, told him that things would be dealt with quickly, and reminded him of Dimitri's full strength. The young prince spoke with conviction. 

“We must leave immediately." Dimitri, placed a hand to Sylvain’s shoulder. “Lady Rhea, give us your blessing. Then I’ll set out with the Lions.”

“Yes,” Lady Rhea raised her hands to issue the official blessing, her eyes a fine blend between pitying and furious. 

  
  


***** 

  
  


Miklan reached Gautier estate the next night, after a long day conversing with the Agarthans. He hadn't been in such a wonderful mood in years. At last, those rotten fantasies he held turned from daydreams into intricate plans. First, he'd deal with his parents, then Sylvain, and, finally, he would help his new employers shred Fodlan's hierarchy at its core. The more the Agarthans had explained to him, the more fired up he felt about what he had to do. As soon as they got their hands on Sylvain, the whole process could begin. The Gautiers and every damn noble household in this land would come to a violent end. 

When he reached the entryway to the home, he dispatched anyone who approached him. As he swung the strange weapon that Kronya had given him, an inky black weapon that looked like a scythe— only this was not made for harvesting anything. Miklan watched droplets of blood splatter to the brick. He’d killed two guards, ending the encounter before they’d even drawn their blades. Miklan loved the feel of Agarthan weapons. They felt near weightless but issued death with such simple swings. He’d never felt so in control, so powerful. When a hallway guard actually managed to raise his iron sword, Miklan’s scythe shattered it into pieces before coming down on its master.

A light peeked beneath the door of his parents room. They were still awake. Miklan swung his new weapon back and forth, enjoying the sharp “whoosh” like music. By now, he was caked in blood— none of his own. 

He kicked open the door, tearing the top hinge from the wooden frame so that the door tilted uselessly. 

His father and mother stood before the bed, his father still in his day clothes and his mother in a white nightgown with blue ribbon woven into each hem. They’d likely caught on to the trouble because Miklan seemed to have burst in on them discussing something worriedly. 

“Miklan?” squeaked Phoebe. Her eyes widened when she saw the blood and then the sinister crescent of his scythe. “What... what have you done?”

“Get behind me!” Florizel put an arm in front of her. He watched his son with a raw, focused stare. He didn’t seem to know what to make of the scythe, but was smart enough to stay back. Pursing his lips, he activated his crest. Yet, this time, Miklan was gleefully unafraid. He stepped forward.

“I’ll give you one chance,” he said. “You can _beg_ me to forgive you for everything you put me through and make me the heir. Or I’ll just kill you.”

“Absolutely not,” spat Florizel. He reached for something on his belt— a sheathed dagger.

Florizel Gautier never spoke again. As soon as his father reached for the blade, Miklan struck. The crescent swung easily in his hand, almost as if it were using him rather than the other way around. Miklan moved so quickly that even he’d barely registered the motion before he heard a sloppy, “slunkk!” 

The tip of the scythe had impaled the margrave. His eyes stared at the curve of the weapon protruding from his abdomen and then at his son at the other end. Florizel’s hand flinched, just inches away from his dagger, before he fell to his knees.

Phoebe cried out. The smell of blood, his mother’s panic, his father’s shock— it was all euphoric to Miklan. It filled him with a joyful sort of anger, a lust to embed his revenge into the Faerghus' history. He swung again, this time at his father's throat. With another satisfying slice, his father fell all the way to the floor— in two pieces.

Phoebe Gautier stared at her husband, blood gushing from his severed neck. Then she screamed, a scream like nothing Miklan had ever heard before. This shriek came from her gut and was laced with tears that had not yet appeared in her eyes. The sound was so awful that it startled Miklan. He felt as though the room had suddenly become real and his father’s death seeped from his revenge fantasies into solid reality. Miklan felt some fear, as he shook blood from his new weapon... fear at how violent and powerful he’d become so quickly. However, he experienced no true remorse.

Returning to reality, he stepped towards his mother and she slid against the bed post, down to the floor.

“Get away from me!” 

He smiled at her with an empty kindness similar to what she had shown him for so long. “I wanted to. I wanted to go far away.” He knelt beside her trembling body. She didn’t look at him, her eyes remained transfixed on the corpse of her husband. They'd widened to the size of blue shooter marbles and she was having trouble breathing. Briefly, she slumped lower before gasping out for breath. At last, the tears came. Between the panic and the crying, Phoebe fought for air. Miklan had never seen anyone so miserable. It fascinated him. This once composed, quiet noblewoman had become a wreck in just one night. In just a few moments.

“Hmph. I suppose you did stick up for me a little even if it was just to save face. So I’ll reward you with your life. All right, Mother?” 

At last, she looked at him, her mouth quivering. Her fearful expression held something else back, something much stronger. Something taboo. Finally, this potent feeling arrived at her tongue and she shouted, 

“ _I WISH YOU'D NEVER BEEN BORN!_ ” 

She clutched the side of her head with one hand and reached for her husband's decapitated body in the other, bawling. Tears had already begun to create streaks of red, irritated skin across her cheeks. Phoebe brought her eyes toward her son and they glittered with an oxymoronic mix of fear and acceptance. She saw Miklan as her unavoidable death and struggled to remain composed before him. 

“I know you do,” said Miklan coldly. Then he grabbed a handful of her hair and rammed her head against the post, knocking her out. 

Kronya and two Agarthans entered upon the scene, taking in everything. The stench of iron and the sight of Florizel's separated body seemed to vitalize Kronya; she laughed and stretched. Finally, her eyes fell on Phoebe. 

“Okay, finish her off and let’s head out.”

Miklan almost did just that. Simply touching the crescent to her throat caused a shallow laceration. All he needed to do was push a bit harder... But he hesitated for just a moment, unable to say why. He didn’t stop out of pity... he just didn’t wish for her to die quite yet. 

“Not right now,” he said. He tucked his new weapon into a sling behind his back and scooped up his mother with ease. Her hair, torn from its tight fishtail in places, spilled messily over his arm. A violet dropped to the floor. Her head fell forward slightly and the thin cut on her throat dyed the neckline of her nightgown. “Soon I’ll face Sylvain, just as you wish. I want her to be there.”

Kronya shrugged. “Fine, whatever. We can hold her for a while.” Her grin expanded, becoming another kind of dangerous crescent. “I can’t wait to see how things play out!”

They exited the Gautier estate into the frozen night, leaving little more than a haunted place behind, a place that had been bad memory after bad memory for Miklan ever since Sylvain’s birth. Now the moon lit the lawn, littered with defeated guards. The pale light pierced through the window of the master bedroom acknowledging what had transpired there. 

For once, Miklan hoped Sylvain would return home quickly.


	4. Beyond the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four chapters so soon.  
> It's because I can't leave. Don't expect so much after the quarantines are over!
> 
> This chapter is definitely the one where the pacing starts to come together. Hooray! It's my favorite so far.

“Hurry. Quickly please.”

Dimitri organized the Lions as efficiently as he could, but Sylvain couldn’t keep his impatience from showing. While his prince pushed people along gently and rushed around helping where needed, Sylvain found himself snapping over things he normally wouldn’t. 

“Please, Your Highness,” he said at last. “Allow me to set off ahead. You can meet me at the estate.”

Dimitri's brows turned upwards pityingly. He placed a large bundle of steel swords up in the wagon. “I cannot let you do that. We have no clear idea what the attackers wanted with the Gautiers. It is quite likely that you are a target as well. I will not allow you to go right to them alone.”

“But—”

“Just listen to him.”

With Byleth at his side, Claude approached the wagon. He’d been working hard to help the Lions depart. His black coat and golden cape hung over a nearby wall and his yellow undershirt was covered in a layer of dust that the horses had kicked up as he urged them from the stables. 

“The first attack was straightforward,” the duke continued. “Your brother wanted to steal a relic. It’s unfortunate but easy to understand. This second attack… It sounds more like the product of a vendetta. That one ia… harder to understand. We have no way of knowing what will satisfy him. It could simply be your death. In that case, there’s no way to reason with him.” Claude wiped his forehead with the side of his arm. “Dimitri is right.”

“I can’t be worried about myself right now,” said Sylvain. “My parents and the margraviate… they could be in serious trouble.”

“And getting an avoidable injury won’t help them,” said Dimitri with finality. His forehead wrinkled in thought. “I don’t think I have seen Miklan since we were children. It was before Duscur. I remember that he made me uncomfortable. If a child could exude so much hatred… I do not think we should underestimate him as an adult.” 

Sylvain wanted to state that this second attack could be unrelated to Miklan. But, while that was a possibility, he knew that pointing it out would earn him even more sympathetic looks from Dimitri and Claude so he kept his mouth shut and stared at the black toes of his boots. Finally, Claude spoke up again.

“I’m sorry that I can’t come too. I would if I didn’t have to prepare for my own class mission this week.”

“And you’re certain things will be okay when I am gone?” asked Byleth. She showed emotion so infrequently that every ounce of affection gave warmed the students deeply. Her concern now was aimed at Claude, and Sylvain couldn’t help but feel jealous. Professor Byleth was the favorite of nearly every student and Sylvain knew that he was not the only one she’d personally connected with… The way that she saw who each of her students were down at their cores amazed him. She was not blinded by crests or titles or any of their weird quirks. Sylvain used to hate her for that— hate her for how freely she lived despite her crest and standing. Now, however, he admired her because he understood that she’d _chosen_ to live freely, taking her newfound crest and title in stride and keeping her focus on the students. 

“Teach, we’ll be fine.” Claude laughed. “You’ve probably spoiled us Deer if we’re being honest. Edelgard and Dimitri do missions without you regularly. It’s time I made my class put all you’ve taught us to work.”

“Speaking of Edelgard…” Dimitri glanced around. “I have not seen her lately. Does she have a mission? If not, perhaps we could use the Eagles.”

Claude scratched the side of his head, just beneath his braid. “I saw her earlier. She seemed occupied with something so I let her be.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t push,” said Dimitri with a rare, teasing smile. “Claude, are you starting to mature?”

“Me? No, never.” 

“Your Highness. Sylvain. Professor.” Dedue came towards them, the others following, each holding their weapons and provisions tightly. “We are ready.”

“That’s my cue to leave.” Claude turned before glancing back at the others. Finally, he sighed and returned, wrapping Dimitri into a hug before breaking away. “I can’t explain it— call it my Claude sense— but I have a horrible feeling about this. Anyway, I just know it would bother the hell out of me if I let you go without being sincere for once. Be safe, my friend, and let us not talk about this literally ever again.”

Dimitri’s stunned expression faded into a fond smile. “As you wish. Thank you, Claude. We’ll return safely.” 

Claude shared a few last words with Byleth before sharing a much less sudden hug with her. Then he headed back towards the monastery gates, grabbing his coat and cape off the wall as he walked.

“He’ll be a good leader someday,” Ingrid remarked. “A thorn in Leicester council’s side, but a good leader.” 

“I agree.” Smiling, Dimitri hopped into the wagon and took his seat next to Annette on one of the benches.

“I’ll drive,” declared Ashe, mounting the horse. Sylvain almost protested; he wished to sit up in front and keep his eyes on the road— too far from the others to be bothered. But he knew that so blatantly trying to get away would cause worry so, again, he bit his tongue. He sat next to Felix as he normally would and feigned being just a little spacy....

  
  
  


“Seriously what’s wrong with you?” asked Felix about four hours into the journey. Sylvain glanced up. 

“Huh? What did I do?”

“We just passed two women and they waved at you and you didn’t move. You didn’t flirt or whistle or anything!” Felix turned towards Sylvain so that neither could escape the other's watch. Anger alone wasn’t rare for Felix, but this particular type of anger was.

“Chill. I missed it.” 

“Fine. Then tell me why. You haven’t said a word for hours. What are you thinking about?”

Sylvain glanced at the others to see that they too were awaiting his answer. His face heated and he only stared back dully. Finally Mercedes spoke. During the trip, she’d been busying herself with some needlework and she ran her finger across the snowdrop pattern as she said,

“We know you’re worried about your family. We understand that it cannot be easy for you to hear that your own brother has done something like this. But help us understand more.”

Byleth nodded in agreement. “We gave you some time alone. But now… why don’t you try to speak?” 

As he thought of what to say, bad memories of his life in the Gautier Margraviate popped up like dandelions before blowing away and scattering the seeds of more awful memories. If anyone asked him if he loved his parents, his simple answer would be yes. He’d grown up with them as his supports, his guides, and his caretakers. They taught him about the world and made sure he was always safe. Sylvain couldn’t say that he did not love his parents because that would discredit all they’d done. Saying that would wipe away the pleasant times— like when he’d gotten lost in the woods right in the dead of winter and his mother had found him and carried him home, bundling him up tightly and making thick hot chocolate for him— or when his father taught him how to read the legends of Loog and built a rocking horse with him, one that looked just like Loog’s steed… 

Sylvain cherished those times but… As he grew older, he felt less and less like a normal child and more like something his parents liked to keep polished. He saw the things that he hadn’t noticed when he was young— the long list of families his parents met with as they tried to arrange betrothals, how frequently they asked him to activate his crest just to check on it, and, most importantly, the way they treated his older brother, like he was a failed version of Sylvain. A prototype. And Sylvain knew that, had he'd been born crestless, his childhood would have been different.

For the longest time, he felt as though he could reach Miklan. If he was only kind enough and patient enough, he thought that he could show his brother that he didn’t care about crests. He’d firmly believed that, someday, Miklan would be swayed by his sincerity. They’d be friends. 

But that day never came. 

Now, Sylvain had to live with opposing types of family members— two who loved him for all the wrong reasons and one who hated him for equally shallow reasons. 

“I just want them all to be okay,” Sylvain said at last. “Even Miklan. It’s hard to word, but I don’t want him to be hurt. He just needs to be locked away for a long time. He is angry and he doesn’t have the sense to know who and who isn’t responsible for what’s happened to him. He’s the biggest imbecile I’ve ever met.” 

“That’s very fair,” said Ingrid quietly. “When we were little… The way he looked at you scared me a little. Then he started looking at Felix, Dimitri, and me the same way.”

“I know,” said Sylvain miserably. “Because of me, he hated you three too.”

“No,” said Ingrid quickly. “Sylvain, that was never your fault!” 

Sylvain sighed and rested his head against Felix’s shoulder. He knew that, under normal circumstances, his friend would punch him. Hard. But he also knew he could take advantage of this situation and get a little more affection than he typically would. And it worked— Felix blew air from his nose but didn’t move.

“It'll work out, Sylvain,” said Annette, bouncing her fists on her knees. “The margraviate will be fine and we’ll catch your brother. We have the professor this time so it will definitely be okay!” She lowered her eyes and slowed her restless hands. “Still, I wish I could do something to make you smile.”

“You could sing the food song to him,” said Felix flatly. “That made me smile. Kind of.” 

Sylvain laughed. “… What?”

A blot of color spread from Annette’s nose to her cheeks like a pale pink ink stain.

“Felix!”

“Wait,” chimed in Dimitri. “There's a food song? And you’ve only sung it to Felix?”

“Not _to_ Felix! He was being a stalker!”

“Hold on. You can’t blame me for how loud you are.”

“I must agree with him,” said Dedue thoughtfully. “I hear you singing frequently. Every time you come into the greenhouse. Sometimes I’m down watering the carrots and you don’t even notice me.”

“What?! Why didn't you ever say anything!?"

“Okay, my question is how you never noticed _Dedue_ ,” said Ingrid. 

The conversation carried on from silly note to silly note for the next hour. Sylvain laughed so hard at a few jests that he nearly forgot about the turbulence in his own head. The dark clouds parted for just a few hours and he felt grateful, grateful that Dimitri hadn't let him go ahead after all. As stressed as he was, Sylvain could admit to himself that he wanted— needed— the Lions there.

Eventually, Annette tuckered out against Mercedes, the professor switched spots with Ashe, and the pleasant conversation shifted… At last, the banter fell silent, but Sylvain still felt content. Maybe he did not have Miklan and never would. Still, he at least had a whopping seven close friends, more than most people had. And he also had supporters like Claude and Professor Byleth. Perhaps it was time he cut his losses. Miklan had rented a space in his mind for long enough. 

  
  


Sylvain tried to act like his normal self for the last few days of travel. Pretending to be fine actually raised his spirits a bit. They’d even stopped at a pub for food, water, and morfis juice once and he made sure to beeline for three lovely women in the corner and chat them up until Ingrid pried him away. He liked the feeling that they were on any old trip, that the professor was simply taking them out to route some bandits and they’d all be home soon… But, the closer they got to the Gautier Margraviate, the more nauseous Sylvain began to feel. He wondered if he’d developed a certain “Claude sense” of his own because he could not stop thinking that something felt off. 

Finally, he jumped from the wagon and onto the edge of the Gautier Estate. His heart cramped up when he saw the number of Kingdom soldiers swarming the grounds. 

“What’s the situation?” Dimitri asked the highest ranking officer they could find.

“Your Highness!” the man bowed deeply. “We’re glad you’ve finally arrived. We were sent by the regent to secure the area. We can give you a full report.”

“Hmph. My uncle was finally useful, then.” Dimitri did not hide his disapproval over Rufus’s inability to organize and rule. Sylvain didn’t blame Dimitri; his uncle sounded like a philanderer of Sylvain’s caliber only five times worse and with five times more unheeded responsibilities. “What happened?”

The officer began to speak until he noticed Sylvain. His face fell. “You are the young Lord Gautier?”

“I am.”

“Please then.” The man winced. “I suggest you do not go much further than here. The margrave… he’s been killed.”

The news numbed Sylvain. He stood there in shock, briefly unable to understand the words, unable to really string them together. It was his friends’ reactions, the way Mercedes covered her mouth, how Felix gripped his sword, and the wet shine which coated Ingrid’s eyes, that brought the significance of the declaration to him.

“Then I have to go in!”

“Sir, it’s not—”

“LET ME PASS!”

Sylvain felt a hand grab his wrist so hard it hurt. When he saw Dimitri, he understood that his prince had no concept of how strongly he’d grasped him. He could rarely gauge his own strength when he was distressed. 

“I'll go with him,” Dimitri told everyone. “Professor, Dedue, you wait with the others. Make sure they are safe.”

“Felix and I are coming too!” cried Ingrid. Beside her, Felix, with just one look, dared anyone to protest.

“Then come,” said Dimitri right as he loosened his grip and Sylvain broke free and tore across the grounds towards the manor.

He heard his friends’ chase after him and he tried to block them out, to only focus on reaching the door. An oblivious solider almost blocked his path and Sylvain shoved him away roughly. All he could think was, 

_No. It cannot be over. Not so suddenly._

Again, he told himself that he had loved his father even after everything. The acidic feeling in his gut proved that to him. In truth, Florizel Gautier had been a selfish man who used his children like dolls, who never gave love to someone who had nothing to offer him… But Sylvain did not want to believe that he was dead and that even the pleasant moments of his childhood had ended in such violence. 

He dashed up the stairs and, when he saw how many guards surrounded the master bedroom, he demanded,

“Let me through! I am Sylvain Gautier.” 

The soldiers didn’t move for a moment, surprised to see him coming towards them so forcefully. But when Dimitri appeared at the top of the staircase, flanked by Felix and Ingrid, they bowed quickly and darted away from the door in silence.

Sylvain pushed the door which swung awkwardly due to a busted hinge on the top. He stepped past the threshold and his eyes fell upon a large white sheet in the center of the room. Crimson stains stained the white linen in different places and Sylvain tried not to look away as he knelt. Behind Dimitri, Ingrid, and Felix, a soldier entered.

“We were waiting for you to arrive and give instructions,” he said quietly. “We used magic to preserve the body but… we weren’t sure what caused the…” He hesitated. “The wound. Nothing we did would fix it.”

Shaking, Sylvain pinched the corner of the sheet. Taking a long breath, he peered underneath.

There, his father lay with a large gap between the center of his throat and his head. Someone had closed his eyes at least, but Sylvain had not been prepared for the horrifying nature of that gap and the dark gore on either side. He let the sheet drop and fell back onto his palms, stunned. His stomach churned. Once, he’d believed that vomiting from distress had just been a dramatic trope of operas… not something that he’d ever experience, no matter what he saw. But he could not deny the heat in his throat. Quickly, he shot up and leaned over across a wash basin at the end table. 

He hacked into the bowl, eyes watering as he did. It smelled awful and that only made him gag and vomit again. Gently, a hand touched his back and rubbed in soft circles. Sylvain grabbed a towel from his mother’s makeup vanity, just barely in reach, and allowed Ingrid to continue to rub his back as he cleaned up. Finally, he spoke. 

“My mother…” he whispered. “Where is my mother?”

“We do not know,” the soldier replied. “When we arrived, the margrave and most of the staff were already dead. There was no trace of Lady Gautier… except for a few of her violets on the floor. If they’d killed her, I cannot imagine why they’d move the body from the premise. But if she's alive… I do not understand why we have yet to receive demands for her return.”

“Maybe they were waiting for Sylvain.” Felix spoke matter-of-factly, but his eyes constantly flicked back to his friend. “They didn’t steal anything, did they?”

“No… Not that we can tell…”

“So it was personal.”

Sylvain remembered Claude’s warning about the unpredictability of vendettas. At this point, he knew that only Miklan would wish for something like this. It all made sense… Miklan hated their father even more than he hated him, but their mother… she had a way of staying out of arguments. Perhaps, for this reason, Miklan had spared her. In that case, where was she? And what did Miklan intend to do with Sylvain himself? 

“Sylvain,” Dimitri approached calmly. “Do you wish to remain here or to return to the others?”

Pulling away from Ingrid, the heir to Gautier returned to his father’s side. 

“Just give me a moment,” he said softly. “Then… can we leave together?”

“Yes. Of course we can.”

Satisfied, Sylvain knelt beside his father, wondering if he should offer a prayer to the goddess. But he never brought himself to recite one. He could only sit there in silence, letting his memories turn dark and grey within the wake of his father's death. 

*****

“They finally arrived,” said Kronya after she’d materialized back in Shambhala. “You were right, Thales. The Immaculate One sent the Lions. Sylvain Gautier was with them.” She let out a whoop of laughter. “His face! I’ve never seen eyes like that!”

A sob from the corner drew Kronya’s attention to Phoebe Gautier who sat miserably beside her elder son. They felt no need to gag her; she hadn’t said a word for a week. In fact, most of the time she sat still, staring blankly at the ground. But, at Sylvain’s name, she finally stirred. 

Miklan scoffed and stood. “At last.”

Thales, sitting at his flickering table, passed his hand over the holographic light, watching the projection stagger. “I suggest using that woman to draw him out alone. If the archbishop truly sent all the Lions, then the Prince of Faerghus is with them. I do not wish to fight him head on. At least not now.”

“Ah yeah…” said Kronya. “And besides him… the archbishop sent the professor along.”

At this, Thales stood, eyes wide. “Then alert Solon. Have them return. We must still attempt to lure Sylvain Gautier alone. But that professor…”

“What? Is he really powerful?” Miklan grasped his crescent sickle; he’d become increasingly more attached to it over the course of the week, frequently practicing with it and growing more and more accustomed to the way it felt in his hands. “Just a professor?”

“Thinking that way will get you killed,” snapped Thales. “She belongs to the ancient dragons. The power of the Fell Star and its relic are with her. Earlier this year, she disposed of a whole cohort of our followers as though they were mere children. Her crest is the most powerful.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “We gave this crest to one of our own in the past but not even she could use it to the extent that this professor can. I was a fool… The professor is not affiliated with the Blue Lions… So I did not expect…”

“It’s as you said.” Kronya spoke shrilly. “We need to isolate our target before any of those worms notice.”

“Miklan…” At last, Lady Gautier spoke. She watched her son with dull eyes, outlined by deep circles. She had not accepted any food for a full week and her skin had begun to discolor. When she wept, her tears fell onto her now-filthy nightgown. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s your baby brother…”

“Quiet,” said Kronya, one of her stingers moving like a sentient being and whipping the air inches away from Phoebe’s face. “Shall we gag her?”

“No.” Miklan swung his crescent once as he faced his mother. “Do you know what I find hilarious?” he said without even a hint of amusement in his tone. “Just the fact that you believe that I _can_ hurt him _._ You think I could kill him. So answer me one thing: why was it that he was considered strong enough to lead House Gautier and I was not?” 

She didn’t respond and hung her head. Matted orange hair curtained her face from view. Miklan almost tugged it away and forced her to answer him, but eventually decided that there was something satisfying about her silence as well.

He turned his attention back to Thales and Kronya. “Fine. I’ll write a letter, get him away from the prince and this Fell Star woman. We’ll meet very soon.”


	5. Beyond Nightmares

At some point, Sylvain’s memories had grown indistinguishable from his nightmares. As he slept, scenes from years ago bled into his dreams. The nightmares started off as plotless images: his father’s body and then Miklan looming over Sylvain with some indiscernible weapon leaking forth toxic colors. But, slowly the dreams developed a cruel beat and became a story. 

_“Brother!” Sylvain cried. His high voice ricocheted off the walls of the dream. He could not have been much older than seven and he had trouble keeping up with Miklan’s much longer legs. He tried to hurry, but skid down a hill just a bit too quickly and tumbled to the bottom. Sitting up, Sylvain bit his lip, trying to fend off the tears of frustration._

_“Oh, come on.” When Miklan saw what had happened, he turned back around and stood before his brother with a frown. This had been long before he’d received the scar that sectioned his face; back then, he’d looked just a bit softer but his same irritable gaze was there. He breathed out a deep, annoyed sigh and pulled Sylvain up into his arms. “Don’t cry. Goddess damn it, Sylvain. You’re pathetic.”_

_Sylvain sniffled and leaned forward, hugging his brother around the neck._

_“Where are we going?”_

_“You’ll see.”_

_“Can we invite Felix, Ingrid, and Dima?”_

_“No.” Miklan flexed his neck a bit, loosening Sylvain’s grip. “How do you get away with referring to the prince like that, anyhow? Father would beat me.”_

_“His name is hard. And he doesn’t mind.” Sylvain silenced for a minute. “Was Father nice to you when you were little like me?”_

_Miklan didn’t say anything for a moment. He hopped over a log and Sylvain felt his teeth rattle when they landed. With his tongue, he checked on one of his loose front teeth, prodding it slightly and feeling the root move. Finally, Miklan said,_

_“I don’t remember too much about it. But I think he was. Before you were born.” At the time, Sylvain hadn’t noticed the sour tinge to his brother’s tone. He’d been too preoccupied with another thought…_

_“So, if Mother and Father have another baby, will that happen to me?” He rested his chin on Miklan’s shoulders nervously._

_“No. It won’t.”_

_Sylvain wanted to ask why, but knew that that would only annoy his brother. So he simply said,_

_“Then I hope they have another baby.”_

_“What? Why?” For a moment, Miklan seemed actually interested— in a cold sort of way._

_“I want to be a big brother. And it would be fun to look after him together. And I wouldn’t be the slowest anymore,” Sylvain mumbled. His ankle still throbbed a little from his fall and he kicked it slightly, accidentally hitting Miklan in the back with his heel. He squeaked out a hurried apology._

_“Hmph.” Miklan did that a lot— made that dismissive grunt. He always made Sylvain feel dumb, as if he did not see things that were so clear. Even as a child, he felt as though he needed to know more, know as much as Miklan, or he’d only trouble his brother._

_Finally, they reached a well deep in the forest. Sylvain bounced from his brother's arms, wincing as his ankle protested the weight, and jogged to the well. He brushed his tiny hands against the layer of moss on the top and inspected some ice-blue mushrooms, unique to Faerghus, which dotted the base of the well. He thought it looked just like one of the fairy wells he sometimes saw in the picture books his parents read with him. He looked to Miklan expectantly._

_“A sylvan well,” said Miklan. “Do you know what that means?”_

_Sylvain shook his head. The word sounded so similar to his name but he did not know what his own name meant either so he kept quiet._

_“It means it belongs to the woods. There are lots of things humans give to the forest to make the sylvan faefolk happy.”_

_Miklan lifted Sylvain up gently by the armpits and rested him at the edge of the well. The younger boy’s feet dangled into the darkness. If he squinted, Sylvain could make out the bottom— stone with oak leaves strewn across the surface; it didn’t look as though it had held water in some time._

_“Your name comes from that word too,” Miklan confirmed. “So I thought I should show you this place.” His eyes grew distant. “Belonging to the woods…”_

_Suddenly, he pressed his palm into Sylvain’s back. The child yelped and lost his grip on the well, tearing off chunks of moss as he plummeted to the stone below. He landed on his bottom and groaned from the impact. He rocked forward onto his hands, crushing old leaves into dust, and pushed himself back to his feet. Staring up at Miklan who watched from the circle of light above, he shouted:_

_“That was so mean, Brother! It hurt!” He whimpered and reached his hand up towards the light. “Help me get out!”_

_Miklan leaned forward. “I think not.” Then he pushed off the side of the well and Sylvain heard his footsteps crunch across the dead twigs, growing fainter and fainter by the second._

_“Please!” called Sylvain, the tears starting to come. He hobbled over to the wall, the base of his spine aching. Digging his fingers into a gap in the stone, he pulled himself up just a little bit. But there were no places for his boots to go; the walls were much too smooth to climb. “Brother, I can’t get out on my own! Brother! Miklan, I can’t get out!”_

_But Miklan never responded. Sylvain sank to the floor and let the tears come._

In reality, he’d been finally found the next morning by his frantic father— after a full night in the darkness and cold, staring miserably at his bright, activated crest to keep the shadows from playing tricks on him. He’d never exposed Miklan, only numbly said that’d he’d wandered too far and fallen in the well himself. He’d felt sorry for his brother because he knew how angry their father would be if he knew the truth… but Sylvain’s sympathy had dwindled with time. In its place, the fear and anger that caused these nightmares formed… and, this time, Sylvain never made it out of that well. In the nightmare, the darkness— like some sentient creature— gulped him up and made him lose all sense of time and depth. He could not even call for the light of his crest as he sank deeper and deeper, losing breath as the feeling of claustrophobia increased.

“Shut up, _you dirty boar_!”

Sylvain blinked up at the ceiling of the inn. A cold gust of wind lapped at his face and he rolled drowsily towards the window. He’d left it open last night and now the entire room felt like the Faerghus outdoors; it even smelled like the wind. Sylvain sat up and grabbed a shirt off his nightstand, pulling it on over his head. The bed on the other end of the room was messy and unoccupied, but Sylvain knew exactly where Felix had gone. 

“Don’t speak to him like that!”

Slowly, Sylvain crept to the window. He ducked down and discretely peered out into the little garden behind the inn. Ingrid stood almost directly below, debating heatedly with Felix and Dimitri.

“It’s all right,” said Dimitri, raising his hand gently to Ingrid. “He can release steam if he must. But what is best for Sylvain now is—”

“Be quiet!” shouted Felix again. “We have no damn idea what is ‘best for Sylvain.’ We’re his friends, not his caretakers. Goddess knows he’s had enough people controlling him because they know ‘what’s best.’”

“This is entirely different,” said Ingrid. She must have come out quickly from the room she shared with Byleth. Her blonde hair streamed over her shoulders, not bundled up as usual. She wore her uniform skirt, tights, and a plain black top, but her coat and boots were nowhere to be seen. Instead she wore a pair of tan house slippers. “We are not discussing this for our benefit, Felix. We want Sylvain to be safe for his _own_ sake.”

Dimitri nodded. “I do not want him to run headlong into danger. Miklan will probably encourage him to get revenge. Then they’ll hurt him.”

“Do you even hear how hypocritical you’re being now?!” Like Ingrid, Felix was not fully put together. He needed to shake an untied strand of hair from his face with a flick of his neck before continuing. “You’re the last person who can lecture us on revenge, Dimitri. I know what you’re really like. You want to send him home, but then you’ll go after Miklan and his goons yourself. And that will satisfy you because you’re just a wild animal who’s _constantly_ out for justice. I won’t stand for that this time. This is about Sylvain and if he wants revenge, he can go for it. If he wishes to return home, then so be it!”

Sylvain pushed off the windowsill, heading for the door. He needed to speak with them and come to some kind of conclusion. Hearing them fight over this made him resent Miklan more than ever. But, just as he was about to grab the knob, the door swung open and Dedue stood before him, tray in hand. Ashe peered from behind nervously, holding a mug with steam puffing from the top. 

Dedue glanced at the window and sighed, setting the tray on Felix’s bed and sliding the window shut. 

“Let them argue,” he said. “We’ll end up talking as a group sooner or later.” 

Ashe gave Sylvain a small, comforting smile and passed him the mug. Sylvain stared at the rippling, dark coffee as Ashe said, “Dedue and I finally had time to cook. We already made sure Mercedes and Annette got some. They’re in the lobby trying to stay out of dodge.”

After taking a sip of the coffee, Sylvain said, “And Professor Byleth?”

“She went back to the estate. She wanted to investigate further and get testimonies. I think Claude’s style is starting to come off on her.” Ashe rubbed the back of his head. “But… what about you?” 

“Well, my Father’s dead,” said Sylvain darkly. “My mother is missing. And it’s sounding like His Highness wishes to force me back to the monastery.”

“I do not believe what Felix has been saying,” said Dedue firmly. He grabbed a bowl of rich-looking porridge, layered with a dusting of cinnamon and fresh fruit, and a spoon. He passed them to Sylvain saying, “His Highness is not saying this because he wants to take control. You are one of his oldest and dearest friends. And I know that means a great deal to him. He’s already seen so much evil done to those he cares for. That is where he is coming from.” 

“I do not doubt that. But,” Sylvain dug his spoon into the porridge, “people are dead. This isn’t one of Miklan’s temper tantrums. He’s really out to hurt people this time. It’s…” Remembering his nightmare, Sylvain froze. Then he sighed. “Who am I kidding… He’s tried to kill me before. It’s always been about me. Any hatred he feels for other people, it all goes back to me.”

“Because you were born?” Ashe’s expression hardened. “You know that everything your brother is angry about is out of your control.”

“Of course I do. Like I said, he’s an imbecile.” Sylvain hung his head. “He’s not a good man and he never was. Good people don’t use their bad luck as a reason to make others suffer. But still, you all have nothing to do with this. If any of you got killed because of this, it would be such a waste. You’re all meant for more than this foolishness.”

“You are wrong. We do not have more important things to risk our lives for,” said Dedue. “Glory or Faerghus or even… even Duscur… These things aren’t important on their own.”

“Right!” said Ashe. “They mean something to use because they’re good for the people we care about. It sounds platitudinous. But it’s true! You’re part of these ‘better things’ we could be fighting for, Sylvain.”

Ashe’s freckled face looked so calm and genuine that Sylvain wanted to lean over and squeeze him tightly. But, before he could even consider that, the door opened and Felix stepped in.

“Good. You’re all together. Get downstairs. The professor just returned, so we’re going to talk about everything.”

Byleth presented two halves of a sword to Dimitri. Right at the break, they were tinged with a foul purple color, as though was bruised. 

“This was found near one of the guards,” she told them. “It tells us a bit about the weapon used. It’s not of Fodlan, for one. It seems to repel any sort of white magic. All things that were severed with whatever this was… could not be fixed or properly healed. The soldiers were hoping they could find someone who’d survived a cut to study, but no such luck. Still, typically corpses can be cleaned with faith. And the ones found in the Gautier Estate could not.”

Dimitri studied the broken blade. He placed one piece on the fireplace and, with his free hand, he ran a finger across the jagged, violet break. Sylvain winced at the sight of it, glad that his friend was wearing gloves. 

“The metal feels too soft,” said Dimitri. “It’s as though it wasn’t simply broken, but partially dissolved.”

Byleth nodded. “I worry about what exactly it is and how he could have gotten his hand on it.”

“Could it be the Lance of Ruin?” asked Mercedes.

“No,” replied Sylvain. “Relics shouldn’t be capable of something like this on their own. The Lance of Ruin doesn’t have an art that does this, but even if it did, Miklan does not bear a crest.”

“I have seen something similar…” Byleth admitted. “But it was not exactly the same… But when the Deer were assigned to our mission in the Holy Mausoleum, there was a knight there who used a black weapon I’ve never seen before.” The professor squeezed her eyes shut as though remembering something unpleasant. “It was difficult to counter. If not for Lysithea performing exceptionally well that battle.... We may have lost someone.”

“Maybe that’s it then?” said Annette. “Miklan is working with whoever that knight was? They were after the Creator Sword so it makes sense. They’re going for the relic weapons.”

“That still leaves so much unexplained,” said Dimitri, placing the other half of the sword on the fireplace. They fell silent as one of the inn staff passed in front of the parlor door and the silence stretched a little too long for Sylvain’s liking.

“Okay. Time to address the wyvern in the room,” he said. “What was decided about me? Your Highness?”

Dimitri shared a look with Ingrid and Felix. They all seemed a tad bitter as if some compromise that none of them were fully satisfied with had been reached. All the same, Dimitri said, “It is up to you. Just tell us what should be done about your brother. However, you dealing with this alone is no option. You must keep us out of the dark. If you do attempt to handle any of this alone, I will return you to Garreg Mach and personally implore Lady Rhea to remove you from the Blue Lions.”

Mercedes and Annette, who had no idea about this arrangement both sat up straighter on the sofa. Sylvain’s heart sunk at their sympathetic glances. The professor nodded slightly, a small sign of concurrence. Sylvain almost shouted at her for that; she was just the type to take on her enemies alone. But instead, he bowed his head.

“I understand, Your Highness. I want to stay here until I can be sure that the Gautier Margraviate will be safe. To do that, I need to find my mother and capture Miklan.”

“Then we will support you.” Ingrid tied her hair with a sharp tug. “Let us prepare. We need to ready our weapons and start investigating. Ah— and I haven’t even had my breakfast yet.”

Sylvain nodded, slowly accepting Dimitri’s decree. Any frustration he felt ebbed away little by little. As much as he wanted to be unattached and keep his friends out of family business, their presence was comforting. Their solidarity made him feel just a bit stronger. He remembered his nightmare and the hopeless depth of that well. At least this time, he wouldn’t need to worry about having no one to pull him out of his brother’s cruel traps…

  
  


After going over a map of the margraviate, narrowing their points of interest to Conand Tower, the Lions decided to take a break. Sylvain stated that he’d like to go for a quick walk on his own, but promised to be back within the hour. He wove his way through town, noting how empty everything felt. On most weekends, this place would be bustling. But all the townspeople still seemed a bit on edge about the tragedy at the Gautier Estate. Those who did take to the streets kept a close watch on their surroundings. 

Sylvain took their unspoken advice and tried to stay out of secluded alleyways and back roads. As much as he wished to find the path behind the mansion, the unmarked one that Miklan had taken him down all those years ago, and visit the old sylvan well, he forced himself to stay in the streets. There were other ways to face his fears without putting himself at risk of assault. 

_Maybe I can find some cute cafe_ , he thought. _See if there are any women around…_

He knew that chatting up some ladies would make him feel better, but also widen an ever-present emptiness inside of him. In a way, he’d never escaped the culture of his parents’ household— the culture of using others. Now he perpetuated that noble custom, but there was something satisfying about playing the game and succeeding at it. And the sweet affections of women, no matter how shallow or temporary, were a bonus. 

Before him sat a quaint little tea parlor and, as he swung his arm back to jog, somebody caught it.

The person’s fingers were small and horribly cold. Their size and softness told Sylvain that whoever had grabbed him was female and he half-expected Ingrid, Mercedes, or Annette only… he’d held hands with each of them at least once before for one reason or another and none of them had felt nearly this cold.

_The professor then?_

He glanced over his shoulder to see a young woman. He could not make out a single thing about her because a long, hooded cloak guarded everything from view. She reached with her other hand and slipped something into his fingers— a tightly folded slip of paper.

“I know where Lady Gautier is,” she said in a shrill, unpleasant whisper. “You’re welcome to come see her. But she’ll die, just as the margrave did, if you bring anyone else with you. I can promise that.” She released him and took off down the street. 

“Stop!” shouted Sylvain, adrenaline coursing through him. He started to pursue her, Dimitri’s warning ringing in his ears. 

_It’s okay. If I can at least get her while we’re still in public—_

He followed her to the edge of an alley where she darted into the shadows and, with a burst of sickly violet light— her body dematerialized, blending into the darkness. Sylvain cursed as he watched her form become incorporeal then vanish completely. He stared at the expanse of the alley, the adrenaline wearing away. Furiously, he unfolded the slip of paper and stared at the strongly drawn words.

_The sylvan well._

_Dusk._


	6. Beyond the Sylvan Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the CEO of noticing typos after posting. So the good news is that people who find this fic late will have a more error-free experience. Sorry to the people who arrive early.

Just as the sun began to set, Sylvain left for that forest beyond the estate. He bit a nail as he walked, thinking about the danger that awaited him. 

The wind gnawed straight through his uniform and turned the lance on his back into a solid stick of piercing cold. He ignored his discomfort and tried to plan. First and foremost, he’d need to get his mother to safety. As soon as he saw her, he’d determine the best possible way for her to escape. Perhaps he would need to show a little throat, comply with Miklan (and whoever that woman in the cloak was) in return for his mother. However, he did not intend to go down peacefully. He tried to focus on the way that Seteth and Hanneman had praised him during his exams, how they’d both promised that he had a future in lanceplay and black magic. Sylvain _knew_ that he wasn’t weak. And soon Miklan would see that too. 

As he walked, Sylvain let spells dance across his hand: fire and sagittae. He kept the magic tight and contained, running the motions through his head and focusing on the sensation of energy leaving his body. Lance and reason, if he stuck to both those things, he knew he beat Miklan— as long as the fight was fair. That stipulation worried Sylvain. He still didn’t know much about the new weapon his brother had used and didn’t know what other tricks Miklan had up his sleeve. 

Sylvain started on the final stretch towards the well, shocked at how vividly he remembered it. The moment he stepped over the same log that Miklan had jumped all those years ago, his stomach prickled. What exactly were his brother’s intentions? Did he want a swift end for Sylvain or a slow, torturous one? Sylvain swallowed as Miklan himself came into view, leaning against the well.

Miklan Gautier smiled cruelly as Sylvain approached, placing a tall, ink-black scythe against the side of the well. On the ground sat their mother, bound by her wrists and ankles. Her skin was sallow and bruised and the rings around her eyes were red in places and grey in others. Syvain felt sick as he saw how damaged she was; they’d treated her terribly and a thin purple scar around her throat made Sylvain want to charge Miklan. He knew of how cowardly and shallow their mother could be— but she did not deserve any of this, not even a little. When she saw her younger son, Phoebe’s eyes widened with both joy and terror; she gave a slight shake of her head. Miklan kept his eyes on Sylvain. 

“I’m glad you remembered this place.”

“Of course I did.” Sylvain drew his lance without pointing it. The iciness of the metal dug down to his bone. “I didn't think you did, though. You should have been grateful to me, Miklan. I never told Father what you did here.”

“Oh, trust me. He won’t care now.”

Phoebe released a shaky breath, lowering her head. Even that action seemed to pain her; Sylvain saw how she fought to stay conscious. 

“I’m here so let her go,” said Sylvain. “Please. You cannot just let her die.”

“Sure I can.” Miklan stepped forward, taking his weapon with him. Sylvain recalled what he’d seen beneath the white sheet in the Gautier manor, his father’s hewed-off head, and the ruined sword Dimitri had inspected at the inn. At last he was seeing the source of that violence. “After all,” Miklan went on. “You did not follow the conditions. There are others here.” He swung his scythe back so that the tip slid beneath their mother’s chin. “You were warned of what could happen.”

Sylvain panicked. How did Miklan know...

Right after he’d lost that woman in the alley, Sylvain had returned to the inn and shown the other Lions the message. “I want to go,” he’d told them. And, together, they’d pieced together a plan. The other Lions would arrive in the woods much earlier than dusk and wait silently until the meeting. They would allow things to play out, only stepping in if Sylvain found himself struggling. Now, they were hidden in places even Sylvain didn’t know. But they had all underestimated Miklan’s sharp perception.

“No!” cried Sylvain. “Don’t—”

Miklan moved his weapon back. “Calm down. I’ll overlook it as long as they stay away. Let’s just chat, brother.”

Sylvain kept the gap between him and his brother consistent, retreating slightly as Miklan approached him. This seemed to please the bandit— he was like a wolf that played with its meals. 

“Fine… what is there to talk about?” asked Sylvain. Miklan smiled again, something he rarely ever did. Typically his anger was harsher, colder… but something had changed him recently and, now, he seemed thoroughly amused by his own hatred.

“Oh, like how school is. I haven’t seen you in so long, little princess.” 

Scowling at the insult, Sylvain said, “Aren’t you sick of never growing up, Miklan? You never change and you’re so— so boring! Do you ever think about anything but crests and _me_? Goddess! You’re supposed to be the older one and you’re still acting like a toddler!”

Miklan swung his weapon, but Sylvain kept still as it passed harmlessly a few feet in front of him.

“Easy for you to say!” roared Miklan. “You have no reason to be angry! About anything! You’re loved— and you’re spoiled! You don’t understand how difficult it is for those without crests.”

“I don’t?” said Sylvain. “No. I think I understand it a little. It _is_ hard. But it’s _you_ that made it impossible to live your own life, Miklan. Normal people are some of the strongest I’ve known and commoners can succeed even at places like Garreg Mach.” 

Sylvain thought of Dedue who pressed on through each day, through the mistrusting looks and spiteful words of those who hated Duscur. Still, somehow, he contented himself with the friendship of those he cared for; he was happy as long as he had Dimitri with him. Then there was Ashe who had been pulled from his situation by some good luck and made the choice to turn his life around no matter how difficult the road might be. For his family’s sake, he tried hard in school, kept up with much more powerful students and always tried his best to get along with everyone. And Leonie… The way she’d humiliated Sylvain in the bow exam just a week ago was still fresh in his mind. Despite their awkward misunderstandings, Sylvain admired her and he saw what went on with her behind the scenes. Those who loved her worked hard to pay her way into Garreg Mach. She’d spend nearly all her free time paying back her borrowed money. Often, Sylvain saw her saving things that he would have thrown away; she repaired her clothing with old uniforms, tore the blank pages from the back of books people had given her in order to make notes for school, and she never wasted a single piece of her prey after a hunt. One scene that had always stuck with Sylvain was a particular evening when she’d fallen asleep in the training grounds after several hours of repairing rusted weapons herself. Claude had gently moved her to the side and placed his jacket over her, winking at Sylvain and holding a finger to his lips. 

At last, Sylvain’s thoughts went to Mercedes. She did bare a crest and she did come from a noble household. But her story was so similar to Miklan’s— and Sylvain’s. She was both used for her bloodline and cast out. Yet… Sylvain didn’t know a single person more selfless than Mercedes. And no one else believed in the inherent goodness of others than she did. 

“Fodlan isn’t fair,” said Sylvain, more quietly now. “The way people hurt the ones they should love over stupid things like crests… it’s disgusting. But this place will certainly reward those who have resolve and kindness. And that is where you failed.”

Miklan clucked his tongue and shook his head. “You’re a fool. You and mother and father abandoned me and now you’re saying that things would have been all right if I had just been kinder? Bold words from someone who had a perfect life.”

“ _Perfect!?_ ” 

This time, it was Sylvain who shortened the gap between them. A rush of anger, a worse fury than he’d ever felt had compelled him to. To his horror, the corner of his eyes watered, but he was not sad— he was frustrated. Years and years of desperation and stress at last became too heavy for whatever thin net Sylvain had constructed to keep them at bay. 

“My life was NEVER perfect! How could it have been?! Do you honestly think I was happy being treated like a— a purebred puppy?! Do you have any idea what that did to me?! And on top of it, I suffered years and years and _years—_ ” Sylvain gasped for air, “of abuse. From _you_! I took it because I wanted a brother! I wanted to love you! Ah.” He clawed through his bangs with one hand, pressing the bottom of his palm to his forehead. “If you had just been there for me, I would have adored you. I would have done anything for you. DAMN IT!”

Miklan stayed stony-faced through Sylvain’s outburst. The set of his jaw revealed no guilt.

“Do you honestly think your cries will change anything?” he said cruelly. At this, Sylvain narrowed his eyes.

“No. I’m smarter now. I understand that some of this was about crests. But some of it was because you are just a bad person, Miklan. I don’t care if I never see you ever again.”

Smirking, Miklan closed the space between them just a bit more. 

“That's unfortunate. Because we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“It’s the point of calling you here,” Miklan rotated his weapon slowly in one hand, much like a baton. “What happened to Father and Mother was just some fun, based on whims. But I do actually need you alive for now. And if you agree to come with me, I’ll release Mother. I don’t even need her anymore.”

“Why? What are you talking about? What do you want me for?”

Miklan extended his hand. “Eh, you’ll figure it out eventually. Come on. Now.” 

By this point, night had fallen and the mushrooms by the well were beginning to glow a bio-luminescent shade of blue, bringing light to that unpleasant place. Sylvain still remembered the emotions from his first trip here… the happiness at being able to learn from his older brother, to spend time with him and then… the depressing realization that he’d been left all alone. He so strongly recalled the misery that had lasted all night. He wanted to take back all that happiness and hope that had been based on his own gullibility. But he couldn't. He could only refuse to follow his brother this time.

“No,” he growled. “I’m cleaning up your mess!”

At last, the tension broke into action. Sylvain darted back, producing a powerful bolganone spell which split the ground between them, shooting flares into the air. Cursing, Miklan pursued him, which Sylvain was grateful for. At least, Miklan had abandoned their mother. 

Sylvain allowed himself to smile as his crest formed before him. He winked at Miklan tauntingly, instigating a swift attack from his brother. The scythe swung so quickly that it scared Sylvain for a moment, but he’d been ready with his lance in front of him. For a moment, he thought his weapon might split from the impact, just as that iron sword had. But the Crest of Gautier reinforced Sylvain and his weapon just long enough for him to shove Miklan back. He revolved his lance back to a forward position, keeping his brother at a distance.

“So are you going to tell me what that thing is or am I supposed to guess?” he said.

Miklan didn’t answer. His face had reddened and the scar across it seemed almost white in comparison. 

“Fine. Doesn’t matter,” said Sylvain. “I can still win. I’m just that much better than you. And trust me. I’ve fought way stronger.”

This derision caused Miklan to lunge for Sylvain, bringing down the flat side of his weapon with surprising force. Sylvain darted back, keeping focus. He hadn’t lied about fighting stronger people. He'd had Dimitri as a training partner. So, if he could just remember all he learned from their little spars, he’d be fine.

They continued on, striking at each other with the sudden viper-like lunges. Sylvain grinned as, again and again, he poked past Miklan’s defenses, giving him nasty cuts. Miklan had begun to grow sloppier, angrier, until, finally, he had one lucky stroke. This time Sylvain’s lance did break. He grunted as his weapon split in the middle and the weight of the lance completely shifted, causing him to stumble forward.

As Sylvain tried to regain balance, his brother reached for his throat. A burst of wind pushed up against Sylvain suddenly, reorienting him and pulling him away from Miklan who glared up into a nearby tree where Annette sat, air pulsing from her palms.

“I should have taken care of your friends earlier!” he snapped, pointing his weapon Annette’s direction. 

“Stop! I’m your opponent!” 

But, as Sylvain tossed his useless lance to the side and began a Ragnarok, he saw that he was not the only one with backup.

Three pillars of black-violet light sprung up behind Miklan, each forming into a startlingly pale person. 

“Grab the woman!” Miklan ordered one of them. 

Just as Sylvain was about to shove Miklan back and make a mad run towards his mother, Dimitri shot from the woods and intercepted one of Miklan’s allies. Behind him came Dedue, quickly scooping up Phoebe Gautier.

“Go!” cried Dimitri. “Take her to safety! Mercedes! Medic!”

“Yes!”

Mercedes fell from a tree and took after Dedue, her long hair and shawl flapping behind her in the nighttime air. Next, Ingrid, Felix, and Ashe emerged just as several more bursts of purple filled the area. They collided with the backup and Sylvain lost sight of them as he avoided another strike from Miklan. 

“Stop fighting!” roared his brother. “Your friends will all die! I’ll remove their heads! You know that I have no problem with that!”

“I know.” Several sigils appeared around Sylvain and he split them into bursts of flame. “That’s why I can’t make any deals with you!”

_WHOOM!_

The other two pale, black-clad people screamed as what looked like a golden whip shot towards them and knocked them back. 

Byleth reconnected her sword, surveying the enemies with a focused anger.

“You’ve all done well,” she said, calmly. “But let me clean up now.”

Sylvain smiled. At last, this was over. He wasn’t sure how much longer the professor had intended to let them have their glory, but he was glad she’d decided to finally intervene. Sylvain wanted to go to his mother’s side as soon as he could.

“Fell Star,” growled one of the strange people, a man with a deep red streak in his white hair. He watched Byleth with pure white eyes before saying. “Enough play then. Retreat. And take the boy.”

The surety in his tone bothered Sylvain. Before he could process the order, however, Byleth started forward as if she'd seen something.

“SYLVAIN!”

But he’d already and unknowingly been trapped. Someone from behind wrapped him in a bear hug and he kicked as his body began to turn violet then desolidify. The whole thing happened with the sudden speed of an arrow. But his throat managed to cough up a fearful, “Professor!” in the moment before the forest turned into a blackness deeper than the well. 


	7. Beyond Crests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! It's been a while (IgotdistractedbyAnimalCrossing). But here's a new chapter! I'm posting at almost 7am after not sleeping because, again, Animal Crossing... so I'll probably wake up and notice so many errors T.T

The Blue Lions couldn’t bring themselves to start the meeting. The empty space where their eighth man should have been was… Well, Annette had described it as ‘loud.’ And Dimitri couldn’t help but agree with her. That synesthetic way of putting it was more apt than just saying Sylvain’s absence worried them. No, the place where he should have been, between Felix and Ingrid, was certainly loud— it was impossible to block out and its existence made speaking difficult.

Dimitri felt like a fool. Earlier that day, when Sylvain had brought them the note he’d received, no one imagined that this would happen. They felt ahead of the curve, as though they were the only ones who’d prepared a trick. Dimitri should have stamped out this false sense of security immediately. They shouldn’t have waited for Sylvain to speak to Miklan and they should not have decided to use Professor Byleth as a last resort. Their eagerness to prove themselves had only lost them one of their precious members.

 _Miklan hadn’t been taking it seriously either_ , Dimitri knew. Their enemies had so easily grabbed Sylvain the moment they felt pressed. Just one order and the battle had commenced. Had these people simply been interested in seeing how things would play out just as the Lions were? Hubris... It was all pure hubris. 

“This is why we should have sent him home,” said Ingrid at last. Her tone was dull and her gaze was fixed, blankly, on the tasseled edge of the rug. But her statement had been a sudden strike. Aimed at Felix. “If he had not been there…”

“Please don’t,” said Ashe quietly. “We do not know what would have happened. We can make little changes in our head for the rest of the night. But there's no use doing that to ourselves.” He watched Felix with a frown, a sympathetic one. But Felix refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

“I… somewhat know…” Byleth’s voice surprised Dimitri. “The pulse,” she muttered. 

“What do you mean?” he asked her. 

She retreated back into herself for a moment. Her mind was working, running through dozens of thoughts that Dimitri was sure he’d never understand. Her blue eyes almost gave something away, their usual blankness sharpened for a moment and then that emotion flickered out.

“I promised Claude I would not speak of it,” she said at last. “Only he knows. I have not even mentioned it to Lady Rhea… But…” She held back for one moment more then shook her head with abandon and took the plunge. “I have a slight grasp on time. I can control it, but for only a few moments. Nothing about this power is truly precise, but it’s notable. I used it the night I met you, Dimitri. For Edelgard.” 

_That bandit…_ Dimitri recalled the man who had nearly killed Edelgard. Byleth’s instant, powerful counter had been one of the things that had made Dimirti determined to win her over to Faerghus, one of the reasons why he’d been so utterly disappointed when she’d chosen Claude. He’d known that there was a beyond-human perception she’d had. But this…

“It changed nothing this time,” Byleth went on. “They took Sylvain once. Miklan did. He went after Sylvain while Sylvain was watching me and disappeared with him. I went back a few moments and tried to warn Sylvain and go for Miklan but… it seems that losing him was a fixed part of fate. The attack came from somewhere else entirely.”

Dimitri processed this. Byleth had acted quickly. She’d shouted to Sylvain and then shot for Miklan only to scream when an additional enemy emerged from the forest. But by then, she couldn’t change her route. The man who’d ordered Sylvain’s capture likely had a good idea about what Byleth could do; he wanted to leave the moment she had arrived. 

“You can change time. Perhaps an additional power of your crest...” Dedue seemed to say this for his own sake. His inflection did not ask any sort of question. “Even if it did not help us here, that is significant. I’m sure we’ll need you for our counter.”

“What _is_ our counter?” demanded Ingrid, turning to Dimitri. “I’d like to know what we are to do, Your Highness. We need to move quickly! We can’t leave Sylvain with— with that monster!”

“I don’t care what you decide,” Felix declared, standing. “I know what _I’m_ doing. I’m going with our original plan. I’ll attack Conand Tower and…” His eyes scared even Dimitri for a moment; they widened with a near-impossible level of hatred as he seemed to see that far off tower. “I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way. If Sylvain and Miklan aren’t there, I’ll tear information out of anyone I do find!” He trained his spiteful glance on Dimitri. “If you disagree, tell me now what you intend to do about it. Will you remove _me_ from the Blue Lions?”

Dimitri scowled at Felix. He cared about him— more than he cared about almost anyone. They’d been together since childhood, engraving Felix into a precious part of Dimitri’s memories... But Felix’s combative personality and rude tongue also tested Dimitri’s temper. 

“Please stop!” said Annette, sensing the friction. “Let’s put our pride aside. We just all want Sylvain back.” She searched Dimitri for some kind of answer. “I also think we need to go after Miklan as quickly as possible. But I will follow any order you give, Your Highness.”

Falling back against the wall and allowing his stiff legs a bit of a chance to rest as he leaned, Dimitri tried to pick apart the situation. But the angles and details were all overwhelming him.

“We know that Miklan’s plan wasn’t to murder Sylvain,” said Dimitri. “There was something else he wanted. That buys us time at least. I just don’t know how much.”

“We need to alert the Church in any case,” said Byleth softly. “We must let them know immediately that a student of Garreg Mach was abducted.”

“Could you write to them, Professor?” Dimitri did not wish to sound desperate, but the idea of dealing with the Church of Seiros himself was not appealing. He got along well with Rhea and Seteth, but now, he wished they’d stay away. “II do not like the idea of the Church getting too involved so soon. If they make Miklan and his supporters too nervous, the situation with Sylvain could get even worse.”

Byleth nodded. “I will simply request some backup. Perhaps from another house. And Lady Rhea may have insights. If anyone knows what Miklan’s weapon could be or what he hopes to accomplish with Sylvain, it’s her.” 

“Thank you.” He wanted to say more, to offer his team further instruction or hope, but he was unsure of himself, unsure of what might put them at ease. He was glad when the creak of the door interrupted his thoughts and Mercedes stepped in solemnly. 

“Lady Gautier is doing better,” she told them. “She needs more rest and I’m trying to get her to eat, but she can speak.” 

“Good.” Dimitri rolled up his sleeves; he’d shed his armor cuffs and gloves when they’d arrived back, but he still felt too warm. “Ingrid. Felix. Come with me. Professor, please write to Lady Rhea. We’ll be back shortly.”

  
  
  


Phoebe recognized them immediately which was a good sign. Mercedes had given her some water and she clasped the cup tightly as they stepped in. She leaned forward, groaning a little, but keeping her frantic eyes on them.

“Prince Dimitri! Felix! Ingrid!” 

“It is good to see you again, Lady Gautier.” Dimitri bowed politely, feeling a knot form in his stomach. “I just wish we were speaking under better circumstances.”

Pale and frightened, she watched him. With a small voice, she asked,

“Where is Sylvain? Please tell me if my son is all right. That other girl who was just in here… she just kept telling me that she did not see what happened and she was so kind but…” Phoebe’s eyes were large and watery. “Is my son all right?”

Dimitri grabbed a chair from against the wall and sat, keeping his posture formal. He wanted to look back to his friends and beg them, with his eyes, for help. But he knew that showing his own fears would break Phoebe Gautier into pieces. So, as calmly as he could, he said,

“One of Miklan’s allies captured him. We will find him, but we need whatever information you may have.”

The cup slid from Phoebe’s hand and topped over the sheets, soaking them through to where her thighs and knees were. Ingrid yelped softly and grabbed the cup, placing it on the nightstand before, removing the sheets and attempting to shake off the excess moisture. Phoebe grasped both sides of her head and her thick hair spilled through the spaces between her fingers.

“No… No! He’s gone absolutely insane— Miklan! He killed my husband just, just like he did not care and, oh Goddess!” 

Felix turned away, crossing his arms and staring intently at his shoes. His face was wrinkled with fury. Dimitri knew that he was itching to head to Conand Tower and let his sword drink up all the blood it could. He wanted to kill somebody. Ingrid seemed to see something more in his expression because she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He glanced over at her and grasped her hand, pulling it off, but not releasing it when their arms fell back to their sides.

“Please, Lady Gautier,” said Dimitri. “Breathe. Miklan said he needed Sylvain alive. So we know that he hasn’t been killed. He's a prisoner somewhere and you’re the only one who may know where and why. Did Miklan speak to you at all about this?”

She met Dimitri’s eyes. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t understand any of it. I had so much trouble thinking. It was somewhere dark, with strange blue lights. It didn’t even look like it was in Fodlan. I’ve never seen a place like it.” She drew in a breath. “He’s working with some people who don’t even look fully human.”

“Those people in the forest,” muttered Ingrid. “We saw them too… Did they talk to Miklan about Sylvain?”

Phoebe tried to remember. She dug one nail into another, peeling the tip slowly. “Yes. They did. It frightened me. I thought they were planning to kill him… I didn’t hear actual details. I… There was something about his crest. But that’s not new… Miklan has always been obsessed with the Crest of Gautier. But he sounded as though he wanted it.” Her brow furrowed. “That’s… also not odd, but the way he spoke… it was as though he thought that were possible.”

“It’s… not.” Dimitri turned back to Ingrid and Felix. 

“Maybe he just needed someone who bears it,” suggested Ingrid. “Oftentimes, sacred treasures and doors need crests to open. But it doesn’t sound like the Lance of Ruin had been sealed that way if Miklan already has it. Lady Gautier, is there any other household secret that requires the Crest of Gautier to activate?”

She shook her head. “Not to my knowledge.”

“Fine,” said Felix. “So let’s take this literally. Crests have no physical form, making them impossible to steal. But, say those people with Miklan have some weapon that could remove a crest. Would that be far fetched? We still have no idea how Miklan’s weapon functions.”

“Something that can cut out a crest...” said Ingrid. “But what will that do to Sylvain?”

Her question hung heavily in the air and only felt more and more grim as it staled. They seemed to all have their own answers to this question that all intersected at tragedy.

“No use guessing,” said Dimitri at last. Again, he bowed to Lady Gautier. “Thank you for your insight. We must take our leave and prepare an attack. Please do rest.” He tried to make his eyes turn soft and sympathetic, apologetic. “I know you are going through so much difficulty, but I need you back on your feet soon. With Margrave Gautier dead, Miklan a criminal, and Sylvain captured, you are the only one fit to take care of the margraviate.”

Phoebe fell back a bit into the pillows as if under a sudden spell of exhaustion. She raised her palm and the minor Crest of Charon appeared there, just a flicker before dimming once more. Her eyes met Dimitri and she offered an unexpected smile.

“You just lost someone important to you as well, but you are still concerned about those in our territory. You are so unlike Rufus and so like Lambert.” Her eyes blinked sleepily. “You’ll be a fine king someday.” Then her expression fell back into melancholy. 

Dimitri smiled briefly.

“I shall let you rest. Mercedes will be back later to tend to you.”

With that, he ushered Felix and Ingrid from the room. As he walked with them, Dimitri thought of Lady Gautier… He’d never once seen her fight. When he was a child, she was always more of a mild, doting mother. Granted, her lack of combat skills had likely been because she never expected to lead anyone or inherit anything. She’d known that she would act as a support for someone else’s household. Dimitri had heard that she and Florizel Gautier had been engaged while she was still seventeen. Their union had been politics, the joining of two crests so that the Gautier Margraviate could sustain its traditional system with a crest-bearing heir. Phoebe’s Crest of Charon had been something of a fail-safe. Everyone knew that the margrave would prefer an heir with the Crest of Gautier. After Phoebe gave birth to such an heir… she probably expected to live a quiet life behind the scenes, holding a title but no real responsibilities.

But that had changed so suddenly

Finally, the trio returned to the others in silence. When Dimitri glanced up, he was surprised to see that Byleth seemed to be the only one who’d even moved at all. She now sat at the table, quill pressed to parchment. She turned her blue eyes to Dimitri's direction.

“Did she say anything that I should tell Lady Rhea?” she wondered.

Dimitri, Ingrid, and Felix must have all made dark expressions because the other Lions seemed to grow more anxious.

“Not much,” said Dimitri at last. “But we do think that Miklan and his allies intend to do something involving Sylvain’s crest. Lady Gautier was thinking that Miklan wanted to transfer it but… based on what we know, that is quite impossible.”

“Unless those people have a weapon designed to do that,” said Ashe quietly.

“That’s what Felix said.” Ingrid’s voice sounded dry. 

Mercedes clasped her hands together over her skirt with a light, worried hum.

“Then we must find Sylvain immediately. Something like that would surely harm him…”

Again, silence fell and seemed to align at a singular dark thought that no one would say out loud: 

_What if it kills him…_

“I certainly want Sylvain back safely,” said Dedue. “But, if that is truly what is going on, this might be even bigger than him. If they prove successful in moving a crest, then I can’t imagine they’d stop here.” He clenched his jaw for a minute, staring at Dimitri. “This could hint at an attempted rebellion. What would stop them from targeting all Faerghus nobles and... royalty... in order to obtain crests? This whole concept does not bode well for the kingdom. Or Fodlan.”

A chill scurried down Dimitri’s spine. Dedue rarely ever spoke for so long and so his statement rang with a certain, invisible panic. The others had sensed it too; they shifted around nervously. Mercedes fidgeted with her ponytail. 

“So Sylvain is just… like some kind of test?” she said. “And then they’ll come for all of us?”

“We don’t know that,” said Annette softly. “Moving a crest… based on our current knowledge, there’s still no way that is possible.”

“Annette’s right,” said Ashe. “Let’s not start going off wild guesses. We need to free Sylvain first, then interrogate and look into this crest transfer theory.” He shivered. “I’m sorry. I just can’t talk about this anymore. I— I don’t even have a crest and the whole concept of just tearing one out of someone still feels gross.”

“That’s the word,” said Ingrid evenly. “Gross.”

“Professor,” said Dimitri when the room fell silent. “Please send as much of this conversation as possible to the Church. And advise them to aid us, but not take over the mission.”

Byleth nodded wordlessly and scrawled quickly. 

“So let’s talk about our next move,” said Felix as Byleth reached the last line. He gripped the hilt of his sword. “I want that tower.”

Dimitri sighed. “Very well. But we go together. And we work toge…”

_But what if you lose control…_

The thought rudely interrupted him. It scared him because he didn't know where it had come from. He hadn’t lost control in years… He’d kept his temper curbed for so long. Among most of Faerghus and the students at the academy, he even had a reputation for being calm and noble. Only Felix knew about the violent anger that existed at his core. The rage that had overtaken Dimitri during that battle… that desire to hurt everyone who’d ever caused his loved ones to suffer, when it fell upon Dimitri, it was so difficult to ignore. If he traveled with them to Conand Tower and saw that Miklan had done something horrible to Sylvain there… He might snap. Would he then lose everyone’s respect the way he’d lost Felix’s? 

_No. No, Dedue will still believe in me. Mercedes would be frightened, but try to help. And Ingrid…_

“Your Highness?”

He was jogged back to his senses by Mercedes. 

“Er, yes, “ he said quickly. “I was just sidetracked by a thought. Where was I…”

“We were discussing Conand Tower,” said Ingrid, shooting him a concerned look. “How about we raid it tonight? We didn’t sleep last night so we should spend the day resting.”

“Fine by me,” said Felix. His grip on his hilt tightened further. 

Dimitri let his gaze flit to Byleth who was rolling up her parchment. Admittedly, her reservedness vexed him at times. She was so stoic. Once, Claude had told Dimitri that she possessed just a trace of humor; it came and went before people truly had a chance to notice it. Dimitri remembered Claude’s shamrock eyes lighting just slightly as he explained and Dimitri had then realized how rare it actually was to see such genuine happiness in Claude’s stare. But Byleth had coaxed that out somehow, had seen past his facade and brought out a real smile. Frankly, it made Dimitri jealous. He knew that Byleth’s silence was hiding much deeper thoughts and he wanted to ask her right then and there if he could pick her brain, if she could offer them some golden insight. But instead, he simply said,

“Thank you, Professor. I appreciate your help. Now, as Ingrid said, let us all rest. We set out for Conand Tower as soon as the sun sets.”

After the group had dispersed, Dimitri headed back to his room. He’d been the only one of them to receive his own. Mercedes and Annette, Ashe and Dedue, Ingrid and Byleth, Sylvain and Felix… the others had insisted that he’d be the unpaired one, but he still couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. He was a prince and he certainly wanted fealty and respect, but he never wanted to come across as lofty. And… although the others only wanted to be reverent, sometimes their attitudes made Dimitri feel so lonely. Sometimes, he preferred Felix’s lambastes to everyone else’s distant respect.

Later, somebody knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

Dedue entered, taciturn as usual. “Might I speak with you before you go to bed?”

“Of course.” Then Dimitri frowned. “It’s about your theory, isn’t it? Dedue, please try not to worry too much. We still do not know if our enemies’ goal really is crest experimentation. Ingrid had suggested that they simply want some treasure hidden behind a crest lock… Perhaps we should have further explored that..”

Shaking his head firmly, Dedue said, “I don’t know what Lady Gautier told you, but it made you come to the conclusion we discussed in the parlor. So please,” Dedue bowed his head, “allow me to keep an eye on you, Your Highness. If these people do intend to take this further than Sylvain, then you are the most logical next target. Your crest is rare and you will control the Kingdom. So please, stay by my side.”

Dimitri wanted to protest. None of this was about him. Their focus needed to be on Sylvain. Still… he could see how much Dedue’s own hypothesis had disturbed him. 

“Very well,” said Dimitri. “I will keep my guard up. And I doubt that, even with those weapons, any of them could best me in fair combat. I will stay close whenever I can.” He offered a small smile. “Does that make you feel better?”

Dedue, nodded, satisfied. But something yanked his expression back down; his eyes narrowed and his mouth dipped. He looked as though he were suffering from an old scar. 

“We cannot allow there to be another attack on Faerghus’ nobility. Not after last time.”

Now Dimitri felt that same scar begin to burn. That horrible evening, the violence, his father ripped from the carriage and Dimitri pried away from him… All the servants of House Blaiddyd who lost their lives and… All the innocent people of Duscur who were slaughtered as an act of empty revenge. Dimitri, in his panic, had searched for someone— anyone— to spare. When he’d found Dedue, chased by Kingdom troops, he’d lunged forward and clung to him. He’d wrapped his arms around Dedue tightly and refused to let go— refused to release him into a world of hatred, into a witch hunt. Dimitri still had a scar, a physical one, on his back from a Kingdom soldier who, in his pursuit of Dedue, had not stopped in time.

All of these memories came to Dimitri vividly and, again, that pesky voice asked,

_What if you lose control?_

“I know,” Dimitri told Dedue. “Never again.”


	8. Beyond Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again!
> 
> So at this point, I'm really jumping around with perspectives. I'm thinking that it will be mostly Sylvain, Miklan, and Dimitri, but this chapter does have some Claude and I have a Rhea section planned for later. Feel free to comment if there's a perspective you think is better than the others and I'll try to focus more on that one. I'm just curious on which character seems to have the most interesting scenes.
> 
> Thanks for continuing reading m(_ _)m

For a moment, Sylvain thought that he had passed out by the well. As he woke up, a bright blue light on the floor flickered and his first assumption was that he’d fallen by a patch of Faerghus’ frost mushrooms. However, the more his senses returned, the more he knew that he was not outdoors. He felt metal against his cheek and the air tasted stuffy and dank. 

Upon sitting up, Sylvain heard a clatter against the floor; his hands and feet felt so heavy. He blinked down and saw that a thick metal cylinder bound both his arms together, reaching almost up to his elbows. On his ankles were fetters of the same dark material. The clatter he’d heard had been from the chain which kept him tethered to the wall.

Sylvain started to grow unnerved as he tried desperately to remember what had happened. Someone had grabbed him during the battle, but after that… he had no memories. Where had he been taken? What was this metal? What were those strange buzzing, blue lights?

Somebody started to unlatch the door, causing a thunderous echo throughout the cell. For whatever reason, Sylvain instinctively slid back to the floor, shut his eyes, and waited. Sooner or later, he’d have to face his kidnappers, but— for now— he wanted to lay low. 

“He’s still out,” said the voice of an old man. Sylvain thought he recognized that voice at first… but decided he was probably mistaken. “Shall we try to wake him?”

“No need.” The second voice was Miklan’s. His boots send vibrations through the floor and to the side of Sylvain’s face. He felt his brother draw nearer and lean over. His hand touched Sylvain’s side, almost making him flinch. “I want him to know exactly what’s happening to him. So let him rest. Besides, Thales was concerned he’d die before we finished the surgery if we start before he’s recovered.”

_Surgery…_

Sylvain’s heart sped up. What were they going to do to him?

“I’ve told you that I have no problem going through with this,” went on Miklan. “I want to change Fodlan too and I don’t care for my brother. Still… you should head back. And give me a moment.”

“Do what you want. I need to return to Garreg Mach. No doubt that when word gets out about this, the archbishop will get involved. Losing a student, that does not look good for the Church.”

_Garreg Mach? Maybe I do know him… A spy?_

This revelation filled Sylvain with motivation. Even if his situation was bad, if he could just manage to escape… he might have some pretty vital information to report.

The old man’s footsteps disappeared down the hall, leaving Sylvain with Miklan. Sylvain tried not to move or breathe, but he could sense his brother’s stare and it unsettled him. Miklan removed his hand from Sylvain’s side and, for a hopeful moment, Sylvain thought he’d leave. But— suddenly— the bandit tugged on the tether, pulling Sylvain upwards and making him feel as though his shoulders would pop right out of their sockets. 

Sylvain yelped and reared back his legs, but Miklan threw him back to the floor before he could strike.

“What was the point of that little trick?” sneered Miklan. “Why pretend to sleep?”

“Why pretend to go along with it?” Sylvain glared up at his brother, shaking with adrenaline and anger. He’d fallen onto his hip and grimaced and he shifted into a sitting position, keeping his eyes on Miklan. 

Miklan stayed on one knee, but seemed to still tower over Sylvain. His presence was even more brutish than it had been when they were children. Back then, Sylvain had ignored the anxiety he felt around his brother; he blocked out the the warning bells in his head. He’d told himself that Miklan would never truly hurt him. Now, Sylvain knew how wrong he’d been. 

“I wanted to talk to you privately,” said Miklan. “I’ll make sure I tell them all of your status when I leave.”

“Didn’t we talk enough at the well?” Sylvain shook his head. “I’m tired, Miklan. There’s nothing we haven’t gone through.” 

His brother scoffed. “I don’t want to talk about our past. I’ve also had enough of that. But I promised to let you know what I wanted with you, didn’t I, little princess?”

Sylvain thought about kicking him. He knew he was in no position to engage in a fair fight but he also knew how satisfying it would be to strike the wind from Miklan’s chest. Of course, he’d have to endure his brother’s wrath directly after… but it might be worth it…

But, at last, he decided to proceed with caution. Slowly, Sylvain said, “Okay. So tell me.”

Miklan removed something from his pocket, a little device that reminded Sylvain vaguely of the crest reader in Hanneman’s office. His brother held it up to Sylvain’s chest and squeezed the sides. Sylvain felt something tug at his core and his crest burst forth, against his will. It glowed brightly in the air between them. 

“You nobles think you’re so special because of these,” Miklan growled. 

“Not this agai—”

“Shut up!” Quickly and angrily, Miklan suddenly clicked the device again. Though he hadn’t hurt Sylvain, the swiftness of his action and the sudden release of the pull in his gut caused Sylvain to recoil. “The point,” continued Miklan, “is that crests are intrinsic, and that’s where the problem lies. You all can keep other people down with them because they’re hit or miss. Anyone can work hard and grow strong, study and become smart, or be good with money and become rich. So Fodlan could not base its class system on those things. They had to use something that keeps classes from shifting. So the answer was crests.” 

“Stop acting like I am responsible for Fodlan's class system!”

“BE QUIET!” This time it was the volume of Miklan’s voice that shocked Sylvain back into silence. “The point is that crests are only important because they’re a simple check mark, something you either have or you don't! But what if you could lose a crest or gain one?

_What…_

Mikan’s eyes sharpened devilishly. “If having a crest wasn't so simple, where would that put Fodlan? That’s what we’re going to find out.”

Syvain’s insides began to twist as he slowly saw Miklan’s logic lining up… His displeasure with his station, his envy… and, at last, the reason he needed Sylvain…

“You think you can take my crest?” At that moment, Sylvain’s heart dropped. “That man mentioned a ‘surgery…’ Miklan, you can’t be serious.” 

“I am.” Miklan rose to his full height making Sylvain feel like a child again. “I know it’s dangerous, but any result would be worth just a chance at lighting this whole system on fire.”

“Any? What if I… what if you die?”

“So be it.” Miklan then raised an eyebrow at Sylvain. “But I have one last thing I want you to answer. It’s important.” He watched Sylvain with his cruel eyes, eyes that looked very much like their father’s whenever he'd caught either of them in a lie. “You have told me that you never wanted this crest, that it has caused you as much pain as it has caused me. Let’s put that little claim of yours to the test. If that crest is really the source of all your misery, you will not struggle or attempt to escape. You’d willingly go through with this. So my question is, do you or do you not also want this? I suppose your actions will soon speak for you. But I want you to tell me honestly.” 

Sylvain almost answered immediately, almost shot back a cliched “you’re crazy!” or “of course I don’t want this.” But he stopped himself, allowed himself to consider a much more nuanced reply because, truth be told, his feelings weren’t so black and white. And his pride would not allow him to play into Miklan’s self-righteous traps. 

“If the conditions had been different,” said Sylvain at last, “I can honestly say that I would have agreed. Perhaps if I were still a child wanting a big brother. Or maybe if I had any reason to believe that this would make you a good person. Or maybe if you hadn’t murdered Father…" He sighed. "Listen, I never lied to you, but you’ve simplified this choice way too much. And this isn’t just about House Gautier anymore; you want to take things out on the whole country. I can’t agree to that goal.”

“Hmph.” Miklan turned almost immediately as if preparing for it, waiting for this answer or, at least, waiting for a “no.” Sylvain was sure the details of how he’d answered hadn’t reached Miklan. All his brother had heard was simply, “no.”

Miklan reached the cell door and started to go before eyeing Sylvain coldly. 

“I was just curious, by the way. It doesn’t really matter. Even if you are compliant, I’m going to kill you when this is all over.” 

Then he slammed the door, leaving Sylvain in the dark once again.

*****

Claude yawned and smacked his lips. He’d brushed his teeth and drank lots of water and still couldn’t get that stale morning taste out of his mouth. Ah well, some breakfast would surely fix that. 

He ran into Lysithea, Ignatz, Hilda, and Lorenz by the stairs and waved cheerily. 

“Mind if I join you all?”

“Of course!” said Ignatz.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” said Lorenz, turning up his nose.

Claude only increased his smile; he’d learned that it was always better to show people that they never got to you— even if they did. Besides, Lorenz’s attitude wasn’t as rude as some back home and in Duke Reigan’s court. Claude could deal. 

“Ah, classic Lorenz,” he said patronizingly. Then he waved them forward. “Shall we?”

Breakfast was different than usual; the staff thought they’d try some new recipes that the merchants in the market had been talking up. This morning, they served sweet toast made from a cinnamon, sugar, and vanilla batter alongside some kind of cheesy breakfast casserole that the woman up front had told Claude was from Mateus in the Kingdom. 

“Dimitri will be disappointed he missed out,” said Claude when they sat. “Ashe once told me that he always gets third helpings whenever they serve something with cheese. It surprised him because Dimitri never shows a preference for food otherwise.”

“I didn’t notice that,” said Hilda, pouring herself a glass of milk from a pitcher on the table. “But I have noticed that you’ve talked about the Lions a lot this past week. That means you’re worried.”

“Me? Worried? Nah.”

“If he is worried, I think that’s a good thing,” chimed in Lysithea. She drizzled some syrup over her fluffy stack of toast and proceeded to cut into it daintily with the side of her fork, but Claude could tell how much she was controlling herself. He’d seen her tear through a small cake in under a minute. “It’s about time Claude got serious.” 

“Excuse me? Did I hear that right? _Claude_ is feeling serious?”

They all turned to see Edelgard, tray in hand. Behind her shoulder stood Hubert, staring at them as if he were trying to figure out which corners of the room they might flee to if he attacked. 

“Miss Princess, take a seat!” Claude pulled out the chair beside him. “There’s room for that shadow of yours too.”

Hubert rolled his eyes and Edelgard said, “I think not. I have a lot of work to get done after breakfast. Best not get distracted.”

“Don’t be like that. We were just about to talk about our good pals in the Lions.”

This caught Edelgard’s attention. “The Lions?” She placed her tray hesitantly beside Claude’s before sliding into the chair. “They are still on their monthly mission, aren’t they? What was it? I did not get a chance to speak to Dimitri before they departed. Typically, I like to compare all of our tasks.”

“They needed to retrieve a relic stolen from Gautier territory,” Claude told her. “That’s why Rhea picked them. Oh, and get this, the thief was Sylvain’s brother.”

“The archbishop pit brothers against each other?” said Hubert. “How unfortunate.”

“Indeed,” said Edelgard. 

“Not sure I’d word it like that,” said Claude. “I think she knew Sylvain would want to go. Still… I hope they can handle this peacefully. I know Her Ladyship isn’t all that merciful, despite how she seems. But, eh, this sounds like a family feud that they should settle before anyone needs to die.”

“What do you mean by family feud?” asked Edelgard. "What happened between Sylvain and his brother?"

“Ah,” cut in Lorenz. “I heard about this from the grapevine once. Miklan Gautier’s right to his inheritance was revoked when Sylvain was born and Margrave Gautier found that he had crest. And at some point Miklan was also disowned, but I admit that I do not know much about those circumstances.”

Edelgard grimaced. “How could someone tear apart their family over a crest? Why is that legal in the Kingdom or anywhere in Fodlan?” 

“I agree,” said Claude. “Trust me, when I finally get the Alliance, I’m going to be making some big changes.” 

“Not without the council's support you aren’t,” said Lorenz coldly. 

“Oh, that will be easy.” Like earlier, Claude kept a smile plastered onto his face. “I don’t know how you haven’t noticed, but I’m a pretty charismatic person. And, when that fails, I’m also quite good at manipulating. I’m great at getting where I want to go.”

“All right, you all just heard him _admit_ he’s manipulative, correct?” said Lorenz, dropping his fork onto his plate and searching around. When nobody said anything, he said, “You two should listen. You are both vital to Fodlan’s future. You cannot just get into power and so thoughtlessly start picking apart the things you’re displeased with. This country functions a certain way. Certain things are expected of nobles and commoners. We have restrictions and freedoms as they are needed.”

“He sounds just like Ferdinand,” Hubert said to Edelgard gruffly. “It’s quite troubling.”

“Er, I mean… I don’t necessarily disagree— I mean about what Lorenz said" Ignatz adjusted his glasses nervously. “I don’t know how to put it, but I do think things are easier said than done and you should look at the big picture before you start thinking up entirely new systems. New systems come with completely new problems after all… B-but I agree with Claude and Edelgard too! The nobility shouldn’t be allowed to use crests to excuse their bad conduct.” 

“Eh, this is all speculation anyway,” said Hilda flippantly, flicking her butter knife. “We don’t even know everything that happened with House Gautier. That’s probably why Lady Rhea sent the Lions. They’ll know what to do.”

“I hope so,” said Claude, reaching for the milk. “But, like I told Dimitri, I have a real bad feeling about this mission.”

“But he’s got Professor Byleth with him on this, does he not?” said Edelgard. “I remember overhearing Raphael saying she went with them.” She crossed her arms. “If Dimitri cannot secure victory for the Lions even with her help, then he perhaps is too weak to stand as a house leader. Much less King of Faerghus.”

“Harsh words, Princess,” said Claude with a humored shake of his head. 

From there, the conversation began to shift. Edelgard explained how the Eagle’s monthly mission went. A thunder of wyverns had changed migration patterns and had started to act invasively on some farmland. So the Eagles needed to capture them and help them merge into other thunders. Claude had envied them so much; he loved wyverns. Handling them hardly seemed like a job to him. In fact, wyverns always liked him as well. He wanted to tell everyone about his childhood and the wyverns they kept in the Almyran palace, where his mother had raised him. 

He wanted to share stories— like about the time he’d leaped off a guard rail on the highest palace tower because he’d been positive that his favorite wyvern would spring from her roost to catch him. Unfortunately, Claude's mother had watched the whole thing. He had never seen her so shaken; she was a strong woman, but she’d cried that day. In retrospect, he knew how it may have looked to her; she hadn’t seen the wyvern curled up around one of the other railings. When Claude’s father heard about everything, he’d struck him. But Claude barely remembered that— he remembered the conversation afterwards. He remembered how he’d been told that his mother loved him dearly. Because of that, it pained her to see how much others seemed to hate him. She would not be able to bear it if she knew he hated himself as well. 

_I’m not sure if anyone ever truly hated me_ , Claude could imagine telling his friends. _I’d given them no reason to._ _But people think that things like heritage, blood, or crests tell us all we need to know about someone. Then they stop looking. That is what makes people cruel. That is what needs to change._

But he’d never be able to talk about any of this. He couldn’t go around declaring that he was half-Almyran. He’d thought about telling Hilda one time and had really wanted to tell Marianne a different time. But he’d only ever seriously considered revealing his secrets to the professor. She would be a perfect confidant— reserved, thoughtful, loyal, and a bit of an outsider herself. Oh, how Claude wanted to tell her. But he knew that once he did, he’d spill his guts. She’d become a jar for him to tuck his secrets into, just to get them off his chest. He was already using her power… he didn’t want to use her as his personal secret-keeper too. 

Claude had all but finished his casserole when Cyril ran into the dining hall. The boy breathed heavily, bending over to catch his breath. Claude almost shouted at him to calm down (whatever he needed to do could probably wait until after breakfast) and join them. After all, Cyril did interest Claude greatly. He was an Almyran child who’d seemed to have fully given himself over to Fodlan. He was another person Claude had considered explaining himself to, just because they shared Almyran blood.

However, a second glance at Cyril’s face told Claude that the kid would certainly deny any invitation to relax. Cyril’s eyes were wide as they scanned the room. Finally, they landed on Claude and Edelgard.

“Both of you!” He hurried towards them. “You need to report to Lady Rhea right away.” He lowered his voice. “She received a letter from Professor Byleth this morning. It was urgently sent by magic. I don’t know much, but something went really wrong with the Blue Lions’ mission and Lady Rhea wants you two.” His eyes swept over Lysithea, Hilda, Ignatz, Lorenz, and Hubert. “Alone,” he added.

“Something went wrong?” said Edelgard, rising with Claude. “Was anyone killed?”

“Like I said, I don’t know,” said Cyril, impatiently. “Just hurry up.”

Together, they rushed to the audience chamber. Just as expected, Lady Rhea was there waiting for them. They saw her pacing furiously as they entered; she squeezed a roll of parchment in on hand, creasing the paper. When she saw them, she regained some composure. 

“Ah. Good. Cyril, thank you. You may leave. Please get something to eat.”

“Yes.” He bowed politely before giving Claude and Edelgard a nervous glance and exiting. 

When he’d pulled the door shut behind him, Claude said,

“So what happened, Rhea?” Then, softly, he said, “no one was hurt, were they? What of Teach?”

She raised an eyebrow, perhaps had his lack of an honorific, but her eyes turned sad. She seemed to pity him. 

“Your professor is well, thank goodness. She sent me this message by magic… she must be exhausted…”

Claude had heard before that, in an emergency, very light objects could be sent hundreds of miles. But that usually required either extreme talent in light magic or a major crest… and, either way, it would leave the caster exhausted. 

“Then what happened?” asked Edelgard. “Cyril seemed to think it was urgent.”

Again, Rhea squeezed the letter. “Margrave Gautier is dead,” she said, her usually serene eyes now full of rage. “Miklan Gautier did more than steal the Lance of Ruin. That crime alone is blasphemy. But then he… He murdered his father then he kidnapped and horribly abused his mother. Prince Dimitri and the other Lions were able to secure the margraviate and save Lady Gautier but, in the process, they lost Sylvain.”

Claude’s heart stopped.

“Lost him? You don’t mean…”

“No, I do not mean he is dead.” Rhea shook her head. “I apologize for phrasing it so poorly. No, the professor feels that he is alive, but he is in the enemy’s hands now. Along with the lance.”

“Why does she think he’s alive?” asked Edelgard. “She must have some clue as to what Miklan and his men want then. What is it? A ransom? Do they have a list of demands?”

Rhea’s face darkened. “That… is the emergency,” she told them. “From what Lady Gautier has said… it seems that they intend to experiment with his crest.”

Claude watched Edelgard's face grow even paler than it already was. She stared, shocked.

“Explain that,” Claude said. “I mean… Professor Hanneman runs crest experiments all the time. But I can tell you mean something else. What could they do?”

He rubbed his chin. At this point, he’d already finished reading every crest book in the Garreg Mach library. He’d moved past those and into a section on Empire legends months ago. Nothing he read was dark enough to warrant Edelgard or Rhea’s reaction. This bothered him…

_It’s Seteth again. He’s removed things…_

Rhea spoke carefully. “Crests were… they were gifts from the goddess. That is well known. However, they specifically reside in human blood. The further a person’s blood is from the original crest-bearer's, the weaker the crest manifests. The both of you possess minor crests, indicating that your relationships to Reigan and Seiros are distant.”

“We know all that,” said Edelgard. She’d begun to tug at the cuff of her glove, pulling it so roughly that her fingertips threatened to poke through the ends. “Explain how the kind of experiment the professor detailed would work.” Then, noticing the severity of her own tone, she added, “please.”

Rhea drew in a breath. “The professor only said they got the sense Miklan wishes to see if he might possess Sylvain’s Crest of Gautier. But my personal understanding is that Miklan and his associates want to see if his blood is a close enough match to Sylvain’s to pass a crest. As I said, crests are mostly based in a person’s blood. Though he has no crest, Miklan is still related to Gautier. I can’t quite imagine what they’d do but… in theory…”

“It doesn’t sound possible,” Claude said. “I mean, we produce blood. Even if you could somehow swap all the blood in someone’s body with someone else’s… crests still seem too inherent.” He glanced up at Rhea. “If they are truly blessings from the goddess.”

Rhea pursed her lips. “I do not quite understand it either.”

“How did a group of common bandits think up this plot in the first place?” asked Edelgard. “Surely, none of them are secret crest scholars?” 

“No… they aren’t. But Miklan has help.” Rhea stared at Claude. “Claude, do you recall your mission in the Holy Mausoleum? In your report, you mentioned a knight with a weapon that seemed not of this world.”

“Ah. Yeah. I remember. That scary guy.” Claude’s brows knit. “He’s helping Miklan?”

“Not exactly. But he’s got a similar weapon to one Miklan has been using. Apparently, Miklan also has people of a similar mysteriousness aiding him.”

Again, Claude could tell that Rhea was carefully selecting her words. She was trying to dance around something.

“Dimitri and Professor Byleth have done well in immediately reporting this," the archbishop went on. "This all goes beyond the original scope of the mission. Still, Dimitri has requested, out of concern for his housemate’s safety, that we all proceed with caution. He does not want the Church taking over. Though I would like nothing more than to show these vile enemies, this trash, the might of the Church, I will respect Dimitri’s wishes. Besides, I need to keep monastery security tight. Especially because the villagers have reported spotting the Death Knight on more than one occasion. I need the Knights of Seiros here protecting the townsfolk and students.”

“So you want to send the Eagles or the Deer,” said Edelgard. 

“Yes,” said Rhea. “Of course, how many people you intend to take or leave is up to you. I only wish to send Dimitri support while allowing him to keep control of the mission in the Lion’s hands.”

Nodding, Edelgard turned to Claude. “It should be you. Now I know what Lysithea meant at breakfast. You were worried for Dimitri even before this. Besides…” She sighed. “Dimitri is a dear friend, but he and I rarely see eye-to-eye on anything. We are just so competitive. I know he wouldn’t want _me_ to pull him out of a mess. 

Claude considered her words, unable to shake the feeling that she was hiding just as much as Rhea. Something felt off about her suggestion. And he was not even sure he wished to involve himself in this in the first place. Sure, he was worried about the Lions but, as a general rule of thumb, he stayed away from unnecessary battles— the less opportunities to get killed the better. He liked to fight infrequently and, in battle, he made sure he had capable allies. Having Byleth join his house, that had been a tremendous blessing in Claude’s eyes.

_She’s with them in Gautier now though… And so is Dimitri._

Both of them took more risk than Claude. They would approach battles in a straightforward, heroic manner. They would meet their enemies headlong and win. Neither of them plotted like Claude. Dimitri, especially, was predictable. 

For the second time that morning, Claude remembered his plummet from that Almyran tower. He never took risks. He’d known that wyvern would leap up. In a similar way… He knew he could trust Dimitri and Byleth with his safety. 

“Fine, if you insist,” he said with a grin. “I’ll run it by the Deer and see who’s coming and who’s staying.” 

“Thank you, Claude.” For a moment, the anger dropped from Rhea’s face and she smiled at him gratefully. Her expression was soft and kind and, briefly, Claude could understand why people like Cyril were so taken with the woman. Still, Claude couldn’t bring himself to trust or even like her. Rhea was a roadblock. She wanted to keep things the way they'd been for hundreds of years and she had the power to ensure nothing ever changed. 

“Hey, my pleasure,” he told her. “Permission to leave? I have quite a bit on my plate now.”

“Ah yes, of course. You are both dismissed. Edelgard, you best make preparations as well. I will have the remaining Deer attend classes with the Eagles and you must all pick up some extra work. With so many of our students gone and the knights busy with the Death Knight sightings, you’ll need to manage monastery security.”

“Understood.”

Though things had seemingly been settled, Claude couldn’t help sense that Rhea and Edelgard’s moods were darker now than ever before.


	9. Beyond Conand Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So brief warning: this really spoils some plot points from the Golden Deer route.

Long after Claude and Edelgard left, well into the evening, Rhea still paced in her audience chamber. 

_Miklan Gautier, he needs punishment as quickly as possible… Before anything else happens. Defiling a sacred place, stealing the Lance of Ruin, killing and kidnapping his own kin… He has no respect for holy things. His soul is nothing more than foul, worm-ridden mud… It’s humans like him who…_

“Ah.” Rhea clutched her head, remembering it all… Everything that Nemesis had done and the years of awful war that followed. She did not hate humans— far from it. She loved them and pitied them, pitied the ones who were so weak, barely stronger than Nabatean young. She found many humans quite cute, actually. And, because of that, she hated the evil ones even more. 

_They did not only kill MY mother and MY brothers and sisters… Evil humans always abuse the pure ones— they took away the gods that many humans rely on and forced them to war!_

Rhea’s life had become about little more than preventing war. Everything she did, every steel law and swift punishment, was all to that end. Well… no, she did have other goals. She never accepted her losses and she knew that. Her mother, Byleth’s mother, and so many others… She had trouble accepting that they could really be gone forever. How was life possibly meant to work that way? How could it make you love things then take them away forever? 

_No, do not get distracted. Think about the matter at hand. Miklan, Sylvain, the Lance of Ruin, and… Crests…_

The archbishop narrowed her eyes and bit her thumbnail. That insect Miklan Gautier, without a doubt, wanted war. That was the only thing this could all lead to. It was just like the past. Once humans realized that they could have the power of dragons, they always took it further. Rhea had tried to cover up the true nature of crests and— though it had pained her a bit— she even turned a blind eye to the nobles who thought a little too highly of themselves because of them. It was all for the best, all to prevent war. She’d rather have unruly nobles than have humans dying in droves. 

_Miklan has the help of the Agarthans._

That had disturbed Rhea the most. Though Claude and Byleth had no idea what exactly they’d been reporting, Rhea saw it all. That evil race was involved in all of this, helping Miklan. And now they had Sylvain and could move forward with this plot of theirs. Though Rhea acknowledged the strength of the Lions, they could not possibly prepare themselves for this enemy. Dimitri and Byleth…

_Byleth._

A burst of panic bloomed in Rhea’s chest and escaped through her lips in the form of another, louder “ah!” Byleth would be facing the Agarthans, fighting them. It would be exactly as it was… They would kill Byleth and, if they examined her body and found the crest stone, then Rhea’s mother would once again be...

 _This stops!_ **_Now_** _. I am sorry, Dimitri. But if I can put an end to this immediately, I will._

Rhea hurried to the window and swung open both panels of the stained glass. The Lions had said Miklan and his men would be at Conand Tower. Rhea could reach the tower first, if she hurried. She peeked outside and saw that evening was beginning to fall and a thick blanket of fog coated the courtyard below, hiding it from her view. 

_Perfect._

Bunching up her skirt, Rhea stepped onto the windowsill. A gust of cool air met her and combed through her hair, rustling the lilies on her headdress. The wind encouraged her to breathe, to let her mind clear. She balanced with both feet and felt magic flow from her pumping heart and through her veins to every place in her body. A glow flooded from each pore and she felt herself fall then soar.

How she missed this form. The body of the Immaculate One. White scales, a strong jaw, and powerful eyes, was how she truly felt like herself. Her magic wrapped around her wings and propelled her upwards, even above the clouds and then she shot towards the kingdom. Moving her very fastest and expending as much magic as she was able, she’d reach Conand Tower in only a few hours. 

*****

Philip stretched out on several bags of cornmeal and tried to think.

Everything had felt so surreal since the day they went after the Lance of Ruin. Philip didn’t regret raiding the Gautier shrine; they’d made some good money from that little heist. However… They did lose Miklan in a sense. All the guys noticed their boss's increasing absences. Whenever Miklan did return, his posture was flighty and he seemed to be keeping more and more secrets.

“Don’t worry about it,” he’d told Buxton once. “I’m working with that woman and some of her friends on, well, sort of a side project. I’ll let you in on it eventually, but there’s something we want to test and I don’t want any of you to get worked up about it right now.”

They’d tried to press, but Miklan’s mood had turned dark and they dropped the subject.

 _Is it something dangerous?_ Phillip couldn’t help but wonder. Yeah, that had to be it… Miklan was doing some kind of work that was even riskier than what they normally did. That theory didn’t exactly tie up everything, though. Miklan never babied any of them. He did worry about losing people, but he never seemed to fret too much over danger. What exactly was he working on with that strange lady?

“Aw man, I miss Miklan,” said one of the other bandits, tossing an empty bottle to the other end of the room. “It’s been so dull here lately.”

“Hey, he said he’d let us in on everything eventually,” snapped Buxton. “So just cool it.” 

The other bandit grumbled and flopped down onto some hay. Phillip couldn’t blame him… Things _had_ changed. And he was sure that they were all hoping it wouldn’t be permanent. 

Just as Phillip was about to stand and make his way over to the ale, the whole tower rumbled.

_THUD._

Philip cursed as he nearly fell to his knees. The ground shook as though they were experiencing an earthquake, but that couldn’t be it. He was sure something had hit the top of the tower. Pebbles broke off the ceiling and rained down over them. Feeling uneasy, Philip grabbed an axe that he kept propped by the door. 

“Come on!” he shouted. “We might be under attack! They’ve landed wyverns!”

In his gut, he knew the impact had been more than a few wyverns… It had felt like one big creature or, perhaps, a whole hoard of wyverns. Neither option was great. For a moment, he considered that one of those stone giants from the Gautier shrine (the lady had called them golems?) had followed them here. But that idea also seemed silly. For one, they’d all been destroyed and, for two… how would it have even found them?

The bandits all flooded the long balcony outside the room and the sight that awaited them made Philip curse his faux bravery for leading them here.

A monster clung to the side of the tower and stared down at them with pupilless eyes. This creature was reptilian, but much larger than a wyvern. Its scales looked grey at first, but shifted to a pearl color when the moonlight hit them. 

“Goddess almighty!” cried one of the other bandits in shock, stepping back. At this, the monster roared and dug claw marks into the tower.

“ _Do not speak of the goddess, loathsome creature!!_ ” it roared. It’s voice was horrible— echoed and rough— but Philip thought it also sounded vaguely female. Beneath the layers of beastly cadence was a high tone. 

“That… thing… can speak?” said Buxton under his breath, so that only Phillip could hear. “What in the world…”

Phillip swallowed and nodded, mostly to let his partner know that he was just as surprised. The good news was that, if the creature could understand human language, it could also perhaps be reasoned with. 

“What do you want here?” called Philip, trying not to let his voice fluctuate. He gripped his axe until his knuckles hurt. “We haven’t done anything to you!”

“ _You are criminals!_ ” the monster replied. She flashed her teeth. “ _Tell me where Miklan and Sylvain Gautier are. Now! Bring them both to me!_ ” 

At their boss’s name, many of the other bandit’s shared bewildered looks. What exactly had Miklan gotten himself into? How had he made this creature so angry? Phillip, in that moment, understood that this beast must belong to the Church. That was the best explanation. They’d already seen that the Church of Seiros was capable of hiding those golems from the public, maybe they were hiding these reptilian creatures too.

“We have no idea where Miklan is,” answered Philip, grateful that Miklan truly was not there. “And how the hell would we even know where Sylvain is?!”

The monster brought back her head sharply, surprised by something he’d said. But her expression quickly distorted back into fury.

“ _You truly do not know what has happened… He hasn’t told you anything..._ ” she said slowly. She shook her massive head back and forth in frustration and continued to speak to herself. “ _I was foolish to think Miklan would take him here for that kind of experiment… They’re probably both with… damn it all..._ ” 

“What is all of this about?” said Philip.

She pulled away from them and sat on the top of the tower, glancing at the moon. Her wings flicked agitatedly, causing a breeze. 

“ _I have no other business with you,_ ” she muttered before turning her eyes back to them. “ _You’re uninvolved. Still, you deserve some kind of judgement. You’re all sinners, some of the worst examples of your race, and you’ll harass the people of the Gautier Margraviate no more._ ” 

Roaring, she kicked off from the tower, collapsing a quarter of of the building with her powerful hind legs. Philip and the others panicked as the tower lost support. They attempted to run towards the other side, to try desperately to get to the stairs, but the monster turned back around. From the sky, she roared and a ball of magic formed between both her jaws.

Philip knew he was too weak to fight or to protect himself, but his heart hammered, screaming at him to try his best and then, perhaps, some miracle of fate would protect his life. He fell to the stone, covering his head and neck. Then a beam of light hit the tower directly, tearing the structure apart and flinging chunks of rubble in every which direction. Conand Tower collapsed into a useless pile of rubble that no one would have ever realized was a tower at first glance. 

It had become nothing more than a tomb, a final resting place for each one of Miklan Gautier’s men.

****

When night fell, Dimitri led the Lions towards Conand Tower. The tower was quite a distance from the margraviate, several miles, but they spoke to each other very little on the way there. They just rode their horses, listening to the clopping of the hooves and the soft whinnies. At one point, they heard something like a faint crack of lightning and Mercedes commented on how odd that was considering the lack of rain. Then silence fell again. Dimitri didn’t blame any of them. They were all worried about their friend and trying to keep tensions low. Felix especially looked ready to bite the head off of the next person to rub him the wrong way.

“Shouldn’t we be getting close now?” asked Byleth after about an hour. “Why don’t we see the tower in the distance.”

“That is… kind of strange,” said Ashe. “Did we take the wrong trail?”

“No,” said Annette. “We all double checked the map when we started and there haven’t been any forks for miles. It’s just not possible we’re wrong.”

“Everyone be on alert,” said Dedue firmly. “Something feels wrong.”

Dimitri agreed with him. The situation did not feel right. Of course, they all could simply be mistaken about the length of the trail, but each of them agreed with Byleth. They should be seeing such a tall structure at this point. 

They went another mile, all on edge, before crossing over a hill. Finally, they saw something— a vast pile of stone off in a distant field. 

“That… can’t be the tower, right?” said Annette. “All that stone.”

“It must have collapsed,” said Byleth. “Did Miklan know we were coming?”

“That’s idiotic. Why would he destroy the whole tower?” said Felix. “Why not just vacate?”

They watched the rubble for a moment, as if expecting it to be a great illusion that would soon give way to something that made a bit more sense.

“I don’t like this,” said Ingrid at last. Suddenly, she spurred her horse and shot down the hill, her hair flapping behind her.

“Ingrid, hold!” shouted Dimitri. “What if there’s an tra— Ingrid!”

He urged his horse after her and all the other Lions followed in kind. Then, just before they hit the edge of the rubble, the horses reared back and halted. Dimitri hoped they were just unwilling to climb the mound and not spooked by something else. Together, the Lions surveyed the ruins, moving stone and inspecting fractured bits of wall and splintered barrels. Mercedes wove around the group, lighting the area with a fire in her palm.

At last, Byleth said, “There are bodies,” in a calm, cold voice. They turned and saw her kneeling on a slab of stone. She’d moved some rocks away, exposing a limp arm to the air. She grabbed a rock and, even in the dim light, Dimitri saw blood smear across her hand. 

“This happened recently,” she said. “That thunder we heard… was it this?”

“People are dead,” said Ingrid. “What if…” She turned to them, her eyes wide. “What about Sylvain!?!”

This shout shocked the other Lions and the wave of distress that passed through them was almost palpable. They all worked harder and faster, sorting through the fragmented tower, calling and searching for Sylvain. Dedue was the next one to find a corpse, not too far from where Byleth had spotted the first one. The man’s condition was too horrible to even look at, so he told the others to stay away. Dimitri’s heart twisted like brambles. 

_Do I even… want to find him… If he looks like that…_

Annette yelped from her spot at the base of the ruins and Dimitri turned just in time to see a flash of purple behind her materialize into a person. She backed away slowly as Miklan Gautier’s form— and the crescent strapped to his back— took shape.

He seemed a bit disoriented at first, staring at the leveled tower and then at each Lion. His expression shifted quickly and fluently— confusion, disbelief, horror, and rage. His square jaw quivered with anger.

“WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE!” he roared, starting forward. 

“Annette!” Felix caused a small avalanche of stone as he tried to reach her. She raised her hands and pushed Miklan back with a gale before scrambling up to Dimitri’s side. After checking to see that she was all right, Dimitri turned his attention to Miklan. 

The bandit removed his crescent sickle from his back and swung it in front of him as a warning. He spoke in a growl.

“Where are my men.”

In a normal situation, Dimitri would have proceeded delicately. But Miklan Gautier did not deserve any euphemisms so Dimitri simply said,

“They’re dead.” He swapped his lance over to his dominant hand. “We found the bodies, but the tower was in this state when we arrived.”

“I don’t believe you!” roared Miklan. “You act like you’re so virtuous but you’re all murderers too! You did this because of what happened to Sylvain and my father.” He lowered his voice. “An eye for an eye. Except when nobles do it, it’s justice. When commoners do it, it’s a crime.”

“How would we have even done this?!” said Felix. Dimitri held up his hand, urging him to be quiet. He needed to get information out of Miklan.

“Was Sylvain here?” he asked. His tone did not give away how sick he felt. “Is he still alive?”

Miklan didn’t answer right away. He seemed to debate before finally announcing, 

“He’s being kept somewhere else and he’s alive. But…” A cruel snarl flickered across his lips. “Trust me, he’ll be the one paying for all of this.”

“Don’t you dare touch him!” shouted Felix, seething. He jumped down onto a lower slab of stone.   
  
Rolling his eyes, Miklan said, “I remember you… That little Fraldarius kid who used to follow my brother and the prince around like a fool. You understand that your friends were decided for you, right? Our parents pampered you and Sylvain then set you up as playmates for the prince. All of it is politics.” 

“What’s your point, exactly?” snapped Dimitri. “That we only want Sylvain back because our parents tricked us into liking each other? I don’t need to even grace that with a response.” He composed himself. “Miklan, I urge you to surrender. You mother explained some of what you are attempting and, trust me, that is not what you want. It would cause a war. And war only sounds like a good answer until you’re in the midst of it.” 

Miklan didn’t get angry. He smirked and stepped away from the rubble.

“You’re not getting Sylvain back.” His tone was condescending, taunting. His eyes fell one last time on the ruins of Conand Tower and he said, this time without even the slightest smile, “I’m not dumb enough to fight you now, but you’ll all regret this. I’m going to ruin your lives.”

“Stop!” Felix hurried down another mound of rubble and attempted to reach Miklan. He swung his blade too late and cut through only a lingering burst of purple light. “Damn it!”

Felix kept his back to the others for a moment before stabbing his sword into the grass. 

“We need to find out where he went,” said Ashe quietly. 

“Oh! Brilliant, Ashe! Brilliant!” Felix whirled towards the other Lion who went rigid. 

“Felix,” said Dedue coldly. “Stop. He’s just shaken too.”

“Shut up. I don’t take advice from dogs.” Felix tugged his sword out of the dirt. 

“He is not my dog,” Dimitri said firmly. He swallowed and his chest felt as though it were constricting. Miklan’s parting words made him feel warm with anger. He could barely think— all his thoughts kept returning to Miklan’s words, his threats to harm Sylvain and his point about their friendship, his accusation that it had all been arranged for Dimitri’s benefit. “You sound like Miklan did.” 

“Shut the hell up!” Felix, squeezing the hilt of his swords, advanced on Dimitri. 

“That’s enough.” Now, Dedue hopped down from a mound and stood in front of the prince. “I will defend His Highness and myself if this goes further.”

“Hmph,” said Felix. “Dog.” But he lowered his blade. 

This time Dimitri said nothing. He didn’t want to bother with Felix’s temper now. Miklan’s temper was what concerned him. He’d said that he’d make Sylvain pay for what happened at Conand Tower and Dimitri did not doubt that. Dimitri also did not doubt that Miklan would kill Sylvain the moment he had what he wanted. 

_He’ll turn Sylvain into another ghost. Just like the others..._

Dimitri didn’t notice his grip on his lance tightening until it broke in two and clattered to the stone. He blinked down and saw his crest flash briefly in front of his chest before fading. 

“Are you all right?” said Mercedes. Though Dimitri didn’t turn around, he heard her ginger footsteps on the rubble. 

“I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s return to the inn and come up with another plan. There has to be a way to track them.” 

He slid down the mound and marched back towards the horses, not daring to let the others see whatever horrifying expression had crept onto his face. 


	10. Beyond Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter everyone!
> 
> I'm spending it writing and going back in time in ACNL because I still can't find all the cherry blossom DIYs (T.T)

“Claude, for the last time, knock it off!”

Lysithea smacked his hand away from her and grabbed handfuls of her hair, bringing them closer to the side of her face like a snowy headscarf. 

They’d been traveling by wagon for roughly ten hours by this point, making minimal stops along the way. Claude didn’t blame himself in the slightest growing bored. He’d thought to bring only one book— a book of Loogan lore he’d borrowed from Ashe weeks ago— and had already finished it. Then he’d taken time to write in his journal, restring his bow, and tie his braid tighter. When he’d finished all those self-assigned tasks, he’d turned his attention to a strand of Lysithea’s hair and tried to braid that.

Clearly, she had not liked the gesture. Claude found it amusing how worked up she got about such little things.

“Hey, is that any way to speak to your fearless leader?” he teased, pulling his hands back and showing her his open palms. 

“Fearless? You?” Hilda snorted. For the last several hours, she’d lounged on the opposite bench, resting her arms and head on the top of one of the wagon’s sides. Now, she looked up at Claude and Lysithea with a grin. “No offense, Claude, but ‘brave’ isn’t the first word that comes to my mind when I think about you.” She stretched. “Still, I suppose your caution and trickery have kept us all alive. So, I’m not complaining.”

He took a short, good-natured bow from the waist. “Fine. _Cunning_ leader.” He turned back to Lysithea. “Besides, I thought girls loved it when people played with their hair.”

“It’s okay when other girls do it _maybe_ ,” huffed Lysithea. “But it’s rude for a man to touch a lady without permission. And it feels like you think I’m a little kid.”

“Okay, okay. I understand.”

Deep down, Claude was glad she was back to her usual snippy self. He’d worried about her after he’d told the Deer the situation. Right when he brought up crest experimentation, he’d watched her pale pink eyes go wide. She’d seem to see something completely different when she stared at him— something that wasn’t him at all. Claude had expected her to stay behind, but she’d been the most adamant about coming. 

He’d actually demanded that Hilda and Marianne come (he’d called it “volun-telling” them). After all, Claude worried about Mercedes’ workload if things got rough. He suspected that Dimitri was keeping her busy caring for Lady Gautier. The Lions would most certainly need another cleric available. And Hilda… well, Claude just preferred to have her by his side during trickier missions. She needed some pushing, but when she finally did get to work, she was excellent with an axe and she made a clever advisor. Claude had come to count Hilda (along with Byleth) as his closest companion. And bringing her on board had given Claude some amusement for another reason… He smirked thinking back to the conversation in their house room. 

_“Since Hilda, Teach, and I will all be gone, that means I have to go with my_ backup _backup leader to handle things here. So, uh, congrats, Lorenz. Don’t burn the place down.”_

_Lorenz’s head flicked forward so quickly that he looked as if he may have broken it._

_“Me? You’re picking me? But you don’t_ like _me._ ”

_“Maybe so. But when you’re not desperately trying to outdo me, you’ve got the leadership chops. Listen, Rhea wants the remaining Deer to work with the Eagles. This means Edelgard and Professor Manuela will be looking after you all. Still, I want to name a temporary leader to represent the Deer too.”_

_Lorenz raised an eyebrow. “You truly are not jesting?”_

_Claude groaned, intentionally elongating the note to the tone of a frustrated child. “Uuuuuuuuugh, What else do you want me to say? ‘If anything happens to my precious fawns, we duel to the death when I get back?’”_

_“No. No.” Lorenz brought his hand up to his chin for a moment, thinking. Then a look of glee sparkled in his thin eyes. “This is fabulous, actually! Leonie, Raphael, Ignatz, I shall show you the leadership style of a_ real _Alliance noble!”_

_Raphael and Ignatz nodded, hiding smiles, content with allowing Lorenz to have his moment. Leonie raised an open hand to the side of her face, obscuring her expression, and mouthed, “help us” to Claude. They both chuckled before Claude said,_

_“I think that about covers things. Marianne, Hilda, Lysithea, and I will leave as soon as we can. And we’ll bring the Blue Lions and our beloved professor home!”_

“You don’t think… It’s too late to save Sylvain, is it?” Marianne asked, her question piercing through Claude’s memory. She was a pessimistic woman most of the time, but… something about her tone was even more dismal than usual. Her voice softened further. 

“I did not know him well, but… he was always eager to help me when I was working in the stables and… sometimes he made me smile.” She hung her head and pressed her fists onto her knees. “It’s just not fair… If someone should have to die for their crest then…

“Marianne. Stop.” Hilda leaned forward, flipping a pink ponytail over her shoulder. Her gaze hardened. “This has nothing to do with anything you ever did.”

“She’s right.” Claude straightened. “Stop stressing yourself out, already. When bad things happen, you can’t just focus on how it may have been because of you and never hold anyone else accountable…”

He’d meant to end his statement with a hard period but his voice dipped. Something about his advice hit a bit close to home. How many hours did he spend considering whether or not things were his fault? The way he was treated, the way his mother was treated…

 _It was all wasted time_ , he thought. 

“Just keep in mind,” he continued, “that this is not _our_ mission. This is about the Lions. Lysithea.” She jerked softly when he so suddenly said her name. “Something bothers you about all this. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Trust me, I’ll probably figure out what it is sooner or later. But, you are not to take anything on by yourself. We’re all following Dimitri’s calls on this one.”

Lysithea stared at him for a minute. Her eyes seemed on the verge of looking past him again. But, in the end, they sharpened. 

“Understood,” she said.

“Under… stood,” Marianne repeated.

Hilda simply raised a hand and then rolled over and curled up. Claude said nothing about that; he was thankful for how unargumentative she’d been lately. She hadn’t protested much at being dragged into this. 

_Perhaps_ , Claude thought, _she can sense my mood._

She’d always been better at that than most. Still, he hoped she hadn’t picked up on his little white lie…

_I’ll listen to you, Dimitri. But if I think you’ll lead us into more danger than any of this is worth, I’ll protect myself and my house no matter what you might say._

*****

Two men dressed in black robes and birdlike masks had dragged Sylvain from his cell earlier. He did not know how long ago it had happened— time was hard to grasp here— but it felt like an eternity. They’d bound him to a table beneath some bright blue lights. They burned his eyes which had grown accustomed to the darkness. He hated those lights and how fake they felt; they made him crave sunlight and the outdoors. Every moment he spent in this prison gave him more and more claustrophobia.

A woman giggled from the corner of the room as she watched the cloaked men rummage through tools. Sylvain observed her from the corner of his eye for a minute. 

_A lady…_

Sylvain knew immediately that he despised her. It wasn’t just for the obvious reasons— that she was involved with his kidnappers and with Miklan— but something about her hungry eyes filled his chest up with a sour sensation. Oftentimes, he thought he saw that same look when he talked to village women. They all smiled like they wanted something he had, but not _him_. Still, at least those kinds of women weren’t so obvious about their intentions. At least they sometimes left Sylvain second-guessing whether he’d pegged their expressions correctly. With this woman, however… there was no doubt. She wanted something _from_ him and was happy to see him suffer while she waited for it. Still, a girl was a girl… maybe he could talk to her.

“Are you working with these guys?” he asked. He hated how dry his voice sounded. He hadn’t spoken since his conversation with Miklan; that was clear. 

She flicked her neck, briefly flipping orange hair away from her face. 

“I am. What of it?”

“It just surprised me. You’re so lovely… it kind of makes me sad that you’re my enemy.” He smiled as gently as he could, trying not to layer the flattery on too thickly.

“Er… what?” She seemed confused, but also just vaguely annoyed. Not a good sign. Sylvain attempted again, 

“Oh, man… you think I’m trying to make a fool of you… I promise I’m not. I just spoke without thinking. You don’t look like Fodlan women, but it’s really interesting to me! I really think you’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t listen to this moron!”

The door slid open with a mechanical screech and Miklan Gautier stomped in. His eyes were narrow with rage and his face was so red that his scar ran ivory white. Miklan’s expression worried Sylvain, but he tried to maintain a neutral face and not feed into his brother’s clearly foul mood. 

Suddenly feeling heat in his arm, Sylvain looked down to see that one of the masked men had inserted something into his skin, just below the elbow. In horror, Sylvain watched as his blood leaked out into a clear tube and into a metal box which flashed with numbers. 

“What the hell are you—”

“Shut up. It’s just a reading. It won’t kill you,” hissed one of the men. 

“That’s nothing to be happy about." Miklan approached the table. “I’m gonna make you wish we were killing you today.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Sylvain asked. He’d meant to sound rude and defiant, but just a hint of worry slipped into his voice.

“Your friends.” Miklan wrapped his hand around Sylvain’s throat, squeezing the sides of his jaw with thumb and forefinger. “They’re all murderers!” He slammed Sylvain back onto the table so hard that Sylvain struggled to breathe for a moment. Inwardly, he was panicking, but also confused.

“Murderers?” he wheezed, head throbbing too hard for him to manage anything else. 

“They destroyed Conand Tower!” roared Miklan. “They killed _everyone_. All my friends! They slaughtered all of them!”

Sylvain had never seen his elder brother so furious— and he’d been dealing with Miklan’s moods his whole life. But, this time, Miklan’s anger wasn’t brought about by envy, a sense of entitlement or even injustice… This time, he truly pulsated a rage that came from horror and pain. 

Though still fighting to breathe and to ignore his oncoming headache, Sylvain tried to think things through. His friends had all killed people before. Even Mercedes, Ashe, and Annette had been forced to take lives. They’d had a rough time recovering from what they’d done, sure, but they’d all arrived at the conclusion that killing had been unavoidable. The Blue Lions were all soldiers and killing was simply in their job description. That said… Sylvain couldn’t understand why or how any of them would destroy an entire tower. Dimitri tried to take prisoners when possible; it was more likely he’d order for the tower to be secured before arresting everyone he could. He’d want to question them. Mass butchering just wasn’t Dimitri’s style…

Or was it?

Sylvain pursed his lips as he remembered a particular conversation with Felix from long ago.

_“Why do you call him a boar? What did he ever do to you?”_

_“I’m not interested in talking while we spar.” Felix made a jab at Sylvain’s chest with his training sword and Sylvain barely parried in time. “See. You’re distracted. You’re a useless partner.”_

_“Sorry. I’ll pay attention. But, hey, multitasking is a skill too, right? We can talk.”_

_Again, their swords met as Sylvain went in for a strike. Felix lowered his wooden blade to Sylvain’s hilt and twisted, nearly forcing it loose. Grunting, Sylvain made a frantic kick at Felix’s knees, shoving him away. Sliding back, Felix reoriented himself and resumed his stance._

_“It’s nothing. I call him that because he’s mindlessly violent. Like a wild pig.”_

_“Do you know a different Dimitri or something?”_

_Felix charged forward and they locked weapons again._

_“I’m not kidding.” Felix suddenly swapped his sword to his other hand and whacked it into Sylvain’s side. He placed his foot forward and Sylvain tripped over it and tumbled to the dirt. Felix brought the tip of his sword above his opponent’s neck._

_“Ugh.” Sylvain pushed the sword away and sat up. “Let’s get water.”_

_Though he glared, Felix uttered no protest and, together, they made their way towards the well. After looking around to make sure no one was within earshot, Sylvain continued the conversation._

_“Wait, you can’t still be mad at him because of what happened to Gle…” Sylvain stopped himself, realizing that he had been about to kick a hornet’s nest. Still, the damage was done and all he could do was stare at Felix with uncertainty._

_Though he looked ready to erupt at first, Felix somehow regained composure and said,_

_“That’s frustrating. But no. It’s not that. Listen.” Felix stopped walking and they faced each other._ _Sylvain, now feeling nervous, used his collar to rub sweat from his eyes. He wondered if he really wanted to know what Felix had to say after all._ _“It’s because I saw him do it once.”_

_“Okay, what’s ‘it?’”_

_Felix shook his head with aggravation. “Be boarlike!” He he waved his hands for emphasis, as if to shake sense into Sylvain, then sighed. “It was years after Duscur. My father got information about a revolt attempt in his territory, and Dimitri wanted to help. So we both came along. At some point, we learned that a lot of those revolutionaries had suspicious ties to the Tragedy. My father thought that maybe they’d convinced the Duscurs to act or even framed them completely. After he told us that, Dimitri changed. He started acting aggressively and murmuring to himself a lot. And during the battle… He just killed. He wasn’t trying to defend himself or quell the rebellion. His goal just seemed to be killing.”_

_Felix balled his fists tightly at his side and then rubbed his palms on his pant legs._

_“Believe me. The irony of all this isn’t lost on me. I know I’m not exactly merciful either. I kill— a lot. But I’ve never seen someone just completely lose their sanity in battle like that. There were people who wanted to surrender and he killed them too. He looked so thrilled to do it…” said Felix. “It’s irritating. Dimitri knows he has our loyalty just because we want what’s best for our homeland. But he can’t do whatever the hell he wants and expect us to still love him. I don’t want to serve anyone blindly the way my brother did…”_

_At first Sylvain didn’t know what to say. The version of Dimitri in Felix’s account seemed so fictional and yet… Why would Felix lie about something like this? And… Dimitri rarely seemed to argue back whenever Felix insulted him. Sometimes he flashed irritated or jaded looks back, but oftentimes he let it go or even seemed apologetic. Sylvain had always assumed that Dimitri was just that kind and eager to keep things peaceful but maybe it was something else._

_“I don’t think you should judge too harshly,” said Sylvain. “I mean maybe something just set him off that one time or maybe you didn’t see everything. And, well, he did lose family in Duscur.”_

_Again, Sylvain cursed himself for speaking so thoughtlessly. Felix clicked his tongue._

_“Yeah? He wasn’t the only one.”_

_“I… I’m sorry.”_

_“Don’t be sorry. At least_ you _don’t act like that was one of the best things that ever happened to Glenn, like his crowning achievement was dying for someone more ‘valuable’ than he was. That’s better than being sorry.”_

_“Good.” Sylvain offered a smile. “I’m glad that brought you some comfort. I guess that I just kind of miss things. You, Ingrid, Dimirti, and I used to have tons of fun, remember? And I know that that’s all over now. I think I was just fixated on getting an answer… But I understand that I can’t exactly ask people to go back.”_

_For a fleeting second, Felix’s expression eased up and the creases around his eyes softened slightly. “This is why I don’t like talking about Glenn… or Dimitri… around you.”_

_“What? Felix, no! You can totally talk about that stuff with me!”_

_“Shut up, it’s not about how I feel!” said Felix. His typical, harsh expression returned. “It’s because of you. It’s because of… ugh. Nevermind. Let’s get water already and go back to training.”_

Sylvain stared up at the lines of cyan light on the dark ceiling, unable to recall what happened next. Slowly, he brought his eyes back towards his brother’s livid face and wondered if, maybe, Dimitri _had_ leveled Conand Tower. He couldn’t bring himself to pity Miklan, but… He was worried about the Lions. 

“It’s always because of you.” Miklan seethed. “People take the things I care about and it’s always because of you— because they love you!!”

He slammed his fist onto some sort of glowing panel on the table and Sylvain’s bindings were released. His brother grabbed him by the now-filthy front of his uniform and hurled him to the floor, tearing out the tube in the process. Miklan brought up his foot, ready to smash it down onto Sylvain’s ribcage. Sylvain rolled, grunting with pain and hopped to his feet. 

“Hey!” snapped one of the masked men. “You can’t just—”

“Don’t get involved!” Miklan’s eyes heated and he took another swing at Sylvain who dodged.

_Use his anger… Make him lose judgement…_

Despite his hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and pain, Sylvain had some hope. If he couldn’t beat Miklan by sheer force, he could still outsmart him. As strange and terrifying as this room was, it was a treasure trove of temporary weapons and things to jump from and hide behind. 

“Maybe I give people something to love!” he shouted back, rolling up his sleeves. 

Miklan grabbed a long, black cart with fury.

“Yeah— your crest!”

Sylvain avoided the cart when Miklan shoved it forward. It crashed into the back wall and bounced forward into the operating table. Sylvain tried to breathe, tried to keep his exterior looking confident— and not show his brother how deeply those words actually cut. 

“Believe whatever the hell you want! But the truth is that my team is looking for me and they want me back. You don’t have anyone anymore, and the only thing you can think of to do is pummel me for it. You haven’t grown since you were like twelve, you know that?!” 

“I’m going to kill you, Sylvain!” 

“Hey,” said the woman, looking as if she didn’t know whether to be excited or worried. “I like torturing people as much as anyone else does, but don’t overdo it.”

Sylvain smirked. “Listen to your sweetheart, Brother.”

Miklan grabbed a heavy cylindrical device off of the nearest table and hurled it at Sylvain. Reacting quickly, Sylvain caught the object and lunged forward. He felt his crest light up as he swung, nailing Miklan right in the abdomen. The woman shouted something as the bandit collapsed to his knees. 

Adrenaline dulling all his other senses, Sylvain darted for the door. To his horror, he saw that it had no handle and he could not recall how his captors had opened it when they dragged him in, but his instinct told him to continue forward anyway. 

Amazingly, the door slid open when he neared it, allowing him into the hallway. Sylvain dashed, aware of the shouts behind him— and the pounding of his own steps as they rebounded off the cold, dark walls. He turned a corner, trying desperately not to get overwhelmed by all the bizarre, new sights. He’d never seen such a building before, and his gut told him he should be proceeding with caution all while his brain demanded he hurry. 

He made the mistake of glancing back at his pursuers and, in the moment his head was turned, a burst of magic hit him from the front. The attack nailed him directly, and he fell backwards onto the floor. 

“What on earth is happening here?” said a feminine voice. 

Head spinning, Sylvain tried to sit up, but— when he finally saw the face of the newcomer— his body became weak.

_Cornelia…_

“Lady Cornelia…” he said. His adrenaline rush was fading and his body was flooding with pain. The world around him gyrated. Whatever she’d hit him with— his body wasn’t resisting it well. All he could do was stare at this noblewoman, a person who had been so revered by the king, and feel himself grow more and more horrified at her presence. “But you… why…”

Finally, Miklan caught up. He grabbed Sylvain by the back of the shirt, flipped him over and tried again to crush his ribs.

And, this time, Sylvain didn’t have the strength to dodge. 

Sylvain heard a sickening “thud.” Then, he was screaming before he even felt his mouth open. His throat began to ache, but he was far too focused on the tremendous agony in his chest. The pain shaded his vision more and more until he could only hear the people around him…

“So this is your brother? How precious,” said the mocking voice of Cornelia. 

“You fool,” shouted one of the masked men. “We weren’t done with preliminary tests!” 

“It can wait!” 

“Miklan,” said the voice of the orange-haired woman. “Nobody cares what happened at your tower. Calm down before we have to imprison _you_.”

“You wouldn't dar—”

“Wouldn’t I? Ooo-hoo-hoo. Why don’t you test it?”

Sylvain knew that their bickering was growing louder and louder, but he could barely hear it anymore… All the stress on his body, and brain, was wrapping around him like a fog. He was in pain, but also felt weightless and fevered. 

Finally, he completely passed out. 

  
  
  



	11. Beyond Carrot Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some things planned for Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard... but I ultimately decided to focus on the main part of the story for a while. So take some more brotherly conflict. XD

Miklan felt suffocated. Part of that feeling was due to the stale air in his room and part of it was because of all that had happened in the past few hours. Shortly after Sylvain passed out and was taken back to the laboratory, Miklan had a serious talk with Thales, Kronya, and the others. They let him know— in no uncertain terms— what his status was here. He was not a leader. He had no power. He was just as much a part of this experiment as his brother, only, he had been given the option to align himself with these Agarthans. They would give him a crest but he’d never be more than a grunt.

Pressing his forehead against the wall, Miklan tried his best to breathe. That was fine… He had his scythe and he’d taken his revenge on his father and mother. Now, he had his brother as a prisoner. All of that was good; it was what he’d wished for for years. So, what was this feeling of misery… Of loneliness…

 _I miss them…_ Miklan realized. When he was at his lowest, he’d had his gang. Despite how much he hated his family and how worthless they made him feel, he could bear it because Philip, Buxton, and the others were there. So what now?

Miklan cried out and punched the wall. His eyes filled with tears as he roared and punched a second time. He should have stayed with them— should have fought the Lions away from their bodies! But instead, he ran and left them to go cold in the night air. He shouldn’t have even left them in the first place, no matter how much he feared their reactions to the dangerous experiment he’d be undergoing… 

Flopping down onto his bed, the bandit buried his face into his pillows. His nails threatened to poke holes in the sides of the mattress as he lay there hating both his brother and the Prince of Faerghus more and more and more. His hatred and grief finally exhausted him into sleep…

_On his fifteenth birthday, Miklan sat alone on the grand staircase. The whole week had stressed him out because, to him, his birthday was a grim affair. When he’d been younger, he’d loved it— the sweets and the presents with colorful paper. But, each year after Sylvain came along, a little of that color faded. Birthday wishes lost their enthusiasm and the presents lost their thoughtful, personal nature. Miklan feared that, soon, his parents would forget his birthday all together._

_This year was finally that year._

_As a test, he hadn’t said a word to his parents. When the golden glow of day dimmed into night, he accepted that they had both failed the test. So, he sat on that staircase alone and listened to the far off laughter of people coming home from a harvest festival in town. Placing his chin in his palms, he watched magic fireworks blossom in the dark sky. His eyes stung and the sparkles overhead blurred in his vision. Then, he forced himself to go numb._

_The entry door swung open and Sylvain bounced through, holding a brown paper package in both hands._

_“Thanks for walking me home!” he said cheerfully. When Miklan glanced over, he saw Glenn Fraldarius holding open the door with his shoulder. With one arm, he held his little brother who blinked drowsily. Behind Glenn, Ingrid Galatea and Dimitri Blaiddyd chattered about the festival. Ingrid wore a periwinkle dress and a big ribbon in her blonde hair, but a streak of mud on her hem and a tear in her tights indicated that she’d been playing all the same rough games as the boys. She tossed a leather ball to Dimitri who caught it._

_“It’s no problem,” Glenn told Sylvain. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us for cider?”_

_“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you though!”_

_“Of course. Have a good night, Sylvain.”_

_Glenn finally noticed Miklan sitting on the stairs and smiled formally, waving his free hand. Miklan nodded. Something about Glenn rubbed him the wrong way. Though they were about the same age and from allied households, they lived different lives. Glenn was prized by his parents and adored by his brother; he was good-natured at times, but Miklan saw how often he antagonized the village boys and instigated fights just to prove his strength. And he always won. The combined power of his crest and professional training was too much for any commoner. Recently, the Galatea family had struck an agreement with the Fraldarius’, one that would bind Glenn and Ingrid in marriage— once they’d both grown more. From what Sylvain had said, Ingrid was quite pleased with that arrangement._

_When Glenn led the other children away, Sylvain poked his head out the door._

_“Goodbye, Glenn! Goodbye, Felix! Goodbye, Dimitri! Goodbye, Ingrid!”_

_After they let out a chorus of “Goodbye!” Sylvain laughed and pulled the front door shut. He waved at Miklan and bounded over, clutching his package tightly._

_“Brother! I was worried you’d be in bed now! I want to tell you about the festival.”_

_“I don’t care to hear.” Miklan leaned against the banister and glowered._

_“Let me just tell you a little bit.” Without waiting for a reply, Sylvain took a seat on the step next to Miklan and raised the package to him. “This is for you! Ingrid and I won it in a contest and I asked if you could have it.”_

_Incredulously, Miklan took the box and set it on his lap. Sylvain continued,_

_“You should have come! It was so much fun. Felix said that maybe you thought you were too old for that stuff, though. I guess fifteen is kind of old… But I’m never going to stop going to festivals, even when I’m fifteen!”_

_Miklan blinked, finally turning to look at his brother._

_“You know I’m fifteen?”_

_Sylvain frowned, seemingly confused. “Of course. I mean, sometimes I forget ages, but today’s your birthday.” He pointed to the box. “That’s supposed to be your present. I picked something I knew you’d like!”_

_Miklan tore the paper off the box, raised the lid, and peeked inside. There sat several thick slices of carrot cake with rich buttercream frosting. Carrot cake did, in fact, happen to be Miklan’s favorite dessert. He didn’t remember ever saying that, but Sylvain must have picked up the knowledge somewhere._

_“It was the last one,” Sylvain told him. “I was really worried that the kids who won the game ahead of us would pick it. I was really happy when they didn't.”_

_“I… see…”_

_Miklan didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t expected Sylvain to do something like this. That afternoon, he had invited Miklan to go to the festival with them and Miklan, wrapped up in his own frustration with their parents, had shot him down with some condescending response. Miklan reached inside and tore a piece off of one of the slices and ate it. Then, with a sigh, he tore off another piece and handed it to his brother._

_At this, Sylvain seemed to glow. He looked almost cute— Miklan couldn’t help but think— as he snatched the cake and munched on it._

_“You should come next time, please!” Sylvain, rubbed buttercream from his mouth. “Then we can do a game together. Maybe we can pair up against Felix and Glenn! But there’s other things to do besides games. Like we could eat or listen to ghost stories. And there are a lot of really pretty girls who come.” He grinned widely and kicked his feet._

_Though he raised an eyebrow, Miklan said nothing. On most occasions, he might have called his brother a name or reminded him that most of those girls were the type of people their parents wouldn’t like— too lowborn to do their house any good. But, tonight, Miklan bit his tongue._

_“Fine,” he said at last. “Thank you. I like it.”_

_Hesitantly, he raised his hand. Then he brought it down on the top of his little brother’s head and rubbed his wild, orange hair._

_Again, Sylvain seemed to glimmer. His brown eyes widened with delight, catching the entryway light and turning a honey color. Yawning, he leaned back on the stairs and gazed up at the intricate patterns and chandelier on the high ceiling. For a while, neither of them said anything. Miklan placed the lid back over the box so that the cake wouldn’t dry out. Then, he felt something bump against him, and he looked down to see that Sylvain had slid down a few steps and fallen asleep._

_Miklan almost left him there, just like how he almost insulted him before. But, once more, some grateful voice within him urged him to pick Sylvain up and carry him, like Glenn had done for Felix. Gripping the package in one hand and balancing his brother against his side, Miklan made his way to Sylvain’s bedroom._

_“Did Glenn come by with Sylvain? He said— ah!” Phoebe Gautier hurried down the hall towards them. “You have him. Thank you, Miklan.”_

_She held her arms out and Miklan handed the child over. His mother’s expression softened up as she gently bounced her youngest son up and down in her arms. With the side of her hand, she brushed his hair away from his eyes, then she glanced back at Miklan and cocked her head._

_“What’s that?” she asked him, nodding towards the parcel._

_“It’s some cake he got from the festival,” Miklan told her. “For my birthday.”_

_Phoebe’s mouth widened as she realized her mistake. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry!”_

_But Miklan knew that ‘sorry’ wasn’t the best word. Non-confrontational, embarrassed, uncomfortable, those were better words for how she must have been feeling._

_“Whatever,” he said. “I don’t even care.”_

_He dragged his feet back towards his room, half-hoping she’d come after him and half-hoping she wouldn’t. But, in the end, she never came and Miklan fell asleep after eating two more slices of cake and wishing over and over that he’d been born into an entirely different family, one that didn’t fill him with such contempt._

  
  


Miklan awoke in his room in Shambhala, surprised. He’d never dreamed something that had really happened before. A part of him wondered if he’d remembered some of the details wrong. Still, he did recall that night back from when he was a younger. 

Getting out of bed, Miklan wove his way through the labyrinthine halls, not sure where he was going. He just needed to walk. 

At last, he found himself in the narrow hallway where all the cells were located. Only one of those cells was occupied, and Miklan gravitated towards it. He stopped in front and tried to determine why he’d come. He’d cooled off, but his scorn for his brother was still there. Even as he undid the latch and opened the door, he didn’t know what he wanted.

Sylvain sat in the corner. His skin had paled considerably, and he was shivering in almost unnoticeable intervals. Staring up at his brother, he frowned so deeply that Miklan thought for sure that he’d either ignore him or curse him. But, at last, Sylvain simply said.

“They told me we have the same blood type. O. What… does that mean…”

Miklan glanced at his brother's arm and saw a bruise just beneath his rolled-up sleeve. 

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. He’d received a similar bruise a week prior and hadn’t understood the purpose of it then either. 

Leaning his head back against the wall, Sylvain blinked up at the blue lights which turned his eyes to a chilled hue. Unlike before, his hands were unbound. Gently, he rested one over his rib cage and winced. 

“What, they couldn’t fix that?” Miklan said harshly. 

Sylvain shot him an edged glare and said, “I didn’t ask.”

“You should have.”

This response made Sylvain more irate. 

“Why the hell are you here?” he said bluntly. 

Honestly, Miklan still didn’t know himself. This whole evening— from losing his friends to losing his temper and to finally regaining some grasp on his senses— felt surreal. He’d just needed a walk and couldn’t say why he’d chosen to come here. Perhaps his dream, his memory, had played some part in it.

“I thought about something and wanted to ask if you remembered,” he said finally.

“What?”

“The night I turned fifteen. When you gave me that cake.”

Sylvain looked up slowly, seeming a bit off-guard. “I don’t remember it very well. I was like seven. And I think I fell asleep.”

_So it really happened that way..._

“Yeah. You did.” Miklan clenched his fists. “Mother took you back to your room.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Sylvain scowled. “What’s the point of bringing that up? Have you come to tell me about how foolish I was?” He laughed humorlessly. “I guess I’d deserve that… for trying to make nice with a monster.” 

“You were foolish. Because a gesture like that wasn’t ever going to solve anything. I didn't hate you in a personal sense. I hated how you were treated and I hated your crest. I still do."

Miklan held his forehead. Why was he admitting to this… Just a few short hours ago, he’d almost killed his brother. And he'd really wanted to. So where had that dream, that memory of that bittersweet evening come from?

_That was the last time I felt this alone…_

Was that it? No. Having no one remember his birthday was nothing like losing everyone he cared about— the pain was not nearly the same. So why _had_ he come here? Did he think Sylvain would pull out some magic solution, something that would calm Miklan down until the pain vanished and his usual cold rage flooded back? That was a silly thought too. 

“Hearing you admit that…” said Sylvain at last, “doesn’t make me feel better. And I don’t think I even believe it.” Again, he winced before lowering his voice. “If you really do get my crest, you’re still going to kill me… That seems pretty personal."

Miklan gripped the door. He wanted to argue, but he had no counterpoints. 

“It was a mistake to come here. I didn’t know what I expected. But I guess I can promise you that I won’t torture you again. You’ll die quickly.”

Sylvain said nothing in response; he only dipped his head and closed his eyes. Miklan almost tried to say something else; he tried to dig up some other question from inside his skull. But, in the end, he decided to take the cue and leave. 

He walked down the eerie halls, passing by rooms where sleeping titans lay. Perhaps Philip and Buxton’s bodies would still be at Conand Tower… He thought about going back to retrieve them and ultimately decided against it. He couldn’t afford to walk into a trap and, as much as he hated Sylvain’s friends, he didn’t think they’d let the corpses decay out in the elements. Even if the bodies were tossed into a potter’s field somewhere… at least they’d be buried. That was enough. 

“Miklan Gautier.”

One of those men with the birdlike masks approached Miklan. Sucking his teeth, the bandit wished that these masks weren’t so common; he liked to see on someone’s face what the nature of the conversation would be before getting into things.

“We’re done with the initial preparations,” the man went on. “Come with your brother back to the laboratory tomorrow morning and we shall begin.”


	12. Beyond the Fissure Dragon's Sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot. Another two-chapter day. I used to write fics in the past that really stressed me out, and I would like edit for weeks before even considering posting... I think I kind of like this nonchalant method I'm using here. It's more fun lol.

Sylvain didn’t know how much time had passed. Seconds, minutes, hours, day… With no sun-up or sunset, they all merged together in that prison. He felt that time was passing slowly, though he didn’t know if that was true. He wished he’d asked Miklan what day it was when he’d last seen him. Though he hated every inch of his brother, he still found himself more willing to speak to him than the other people here— the people who took his blood and brought him food.

_Food… If I can even call it that…_

On the floor lay a tin cup of something that tasted bland. But Sylvain hadn’t stopped eating it because of the taste; it was the nauseating texture that got to him. Gushy and somehow stringy at the same time, this odd mixture didn’t have the consistency of anything he’d ever eaten before, and it had triggered his gag reflex. Despite how hungry he was, Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to eat anymore. He only drank the cup of water they’d brought him and then went back to staring at the wall. 

His ribs felt sore and the way the food had made him cough only inflamed them more. Sylvain lifted his shirt and, even in the low lighting, he could see a wide bruise— purple in some places, green in others— forming. Perturbed, he released the fabric and let his shirt fall back into place. He desperately wanted a bath, and he was craving protein. At that moment, Sylvain would have done almost anything for some hot water and some pheasant roast like they had in the dining hall. Somehow, the ladies who made meals at Garreg Mach could prepare pheasant roast with berry sauce better than the Gautier servants. The thought of warm poultry made his stomach rumble painfully and he tried to turn his thoughts elsewhere. 

_Why did Miklan mention that time after the festival?_ he wondered. Try as he might, he couldn’t read his brother at all. He’d felt that way since he was a child… Miklan had been so cruel to him and, yet, there were sometimes brief moments that gave Sylvain hope that they could be friends. But now Miklan had confirmed what Sylvain had learned for himself years ago. It had never been him, his personality or his heart, that had made Miklan hate him. The parts of Sylvain that were beyond his own control were the root of Miklan’s loathing. That made Sylvain feel so powerless.

_Stop… You’d already accepted this, Sylvain…_

He really had, and he’d even told Miklan as much back before their battle in the forest. ]Garreg Mach had been the best era of Sylvain’s life. With him, he had Dimitri, Ingrid, and Felix— along with new friends— to talk to. They were all the kinds of people who were actually attentive to Sylvain’s words and deeds. So, finally, he’d lost interest in winning Miklan over, and he’d been able to distract himself from his parents and their shallow natures. He still met people who he knew were trying to butter him up for all the wrong reasons and he still had encounters with those who were too jealous of him to ever give him a chance… But he could always retreat back to the Blue Lion room and spend time with true companions. 

Why did Miklan have to ruin everything?!

The door clicked open and Sylvain, filled with new animosity, almost lunged at what he’d assume would be Miklan. However, the person was not Sylvain’s brother, but an older man with milk-white eyes. The man smirked when he saw how Sylvain was bristling. 

“It’s hard to believe Saint Seiros cherishes people like you. You really look like a base animal from my perspective.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m sure you’d look like an animal too if I kept you locked up, beat you, and fed you this inedible pig slop.”

The man stepped forward and took the cup off the ground and looked inside.

“Finish this,” he demanded, holding the container out to Sylvain. 

“No.” 

Without hesitating, the man grabbed a chunk of Sylvain’s hair and brought his head down. A stab of agony spread from Sylvain’s broken ribs— and from his teeth which the man had rammed into the side of the cup. He desperately tried to yank his head away, but that only made him feel as though his scalp would tear clean off.

“LET GO!”

“Not until you do as I ordered. Your chances of surviving this are low as it is. You need to eat. You'll be losing a lot of blood, and I will not have you die before everything is finished.” Again, the man pushed Sylvain forward and the hot pain in Sylvain’s chest reached a new high. He made a motion as if to kick into Sylvain's chest again and held out the cup once more. Hesitantly, Sylvain took it, weighing what was worse— the food or taking a hit to his already broken ribs. Finally, he shivered and gulped down the food to the best of his ability. A splash of mush ended up on the floor, but the man seemed satisfied. 

“That’s good enough.” He lifted Sylvain by one arm. “Let’s go.”  
  


Miklan was already in the laboratory when they arrived. He’d removed all his armor and now only wore a simple shirt, brown pants, and his boots. He watched Sylvain expressionlessly as the man placed him on one of the tables. Both of them lay on surfaces bearing many arcane runes— magics that Sylvain doubted that even Annette would know how to decode. Between them was a large machine with similar symbols burned into the metal. Tubes snaked from either side. Miklan already had half the tubes pierced into his own forearm.

“Relax, darling,” came the wicked voice of Cornelia as she emerged from deeper in the lab and grabbed Sylvain’s arm with her sharp nails. He tried a final time to hit her away and the man who’d brought him murmured a curse which made Sylvain’s body feel stiff and immovable. Smirking, Cornelia inserted the tubes into Sylvain’s arm. He winced as the needles at the end broke skin. 

“Magic and science,” said the man coldly. “These things are difficult to align correctly. But it has been done in the past.”

“So you’ve said,” Miklan murmured. “Thales, can you give my survival a percent?”

The man, Thales, thought for a moment. 

“For you, seventy. For your brother, thirty.” 

_Thirty…._

Sylvain felt a fresh rush of panic upon hearing that number— not even half. He wanted to jump up and make another adrenaline-charged dash towards exit, but his body refused to move, to obey him. On the opposite table, Miklan narrowed his eyes. He didn’t look panicked in the slightest. In fact, he looked as if he had whetted his resolve. 

“Let’s get it over with,” he growled.

“I like that attitude.” Cornelia smiled, flipped peach-colored hair behind her shoulder, and placed her hands on the machine. “Sign of the Fissure Dragon…” she began. Then her incantation switched languages.

“Blóð blanda und niðhöggr feigr… vald…”

Her words faded out as the runes around Sylvain lit a deep red color. His heat thumped against his fractured ribs as if it were a frantic inmate realizing that the bars had begun to give way. Sylvain made the mistake of turning his head to the side and saw how much of his blood was ebbing from him and into the flickering machine. The sigils on the machine initially lit that same callous blue that filled this dark hideaway, but slowly that color gave way to a bright red. 

On the other table, Miklan breathed deeply, his eyes squeezed shut as blood flowed through him as well. 

The whole lab turned fuzzy in Sylvain’s vision and, briefly, he thought he hear more fragments of Cornelia’s spell:

“...Madhr und ásynja…”

Finally, the agony came, a pain greater than a blade or even fire was capable of. 

Sylvain forgot all about his ribs as his very veins seemed to combust and prevent him from forming full, coherent thoughts. He couldn’t even scream as his lungs began to squeeze and shut down. This pain was practically despair itself, a feeling that made Sylvain wonder if he even had a future, a day where he wouldn’t feel like death was upon him. 

_Breathe... can't..._

Before him, the Crest of Gautier materialized, shimmering scarlet. It rotated and— though he’d seen this glyph many times— Sylvain could barely made sense of it. It seemed so alien. Sinister.

 _Dimitri_ , Sylvain thought as the anguish increased and he remembered that low survival percentage Thales had guessed, that thirty percent. _Ingrid… Felix… Don’t want.... To leave you…_

*****

Miklan didn’t remember passing out but, next thing he knew, Cornelia was shaking him awake and holding a basin of water to his lips. He sat up and greedily sucked in the cool fluid until he’d drained the basin. Then, he tried to speak.

“Wha...t happened?”

Cornelia set the basin beside him, atop a rune that had once again gone dark. She laced her thin fingers.

“It was ‘mostly’ successful.”

“Mostly?”

“Look at it.”

Tentatively, Miklan raised his hand. He grit his teeth when he saw how much his fingers trembled. For several moments, he watched his unsteady palms and, finally, he forced them still. The image of the Fissure Dragon Crest formed in his mind and he willed it to appear before him. He splayed his fingers, begging it to show itself. 

And it did.

The circular crest flickered before him, a bright beacon in the darkness of the laboratory. Miklan’s eyes widened and a short laugh escaped him. As he flexed his wrist, the crest shifted slightly.

“I have… a crest…”

“Indeed.” Cornelia snickered. “The same one that brat used to have.”

“Sylvain…” Miklan turned to look at his brother and saw him still on the other table. He was turned on his side, away from Miklan and lay as still as a doll. “Is he alive?”

“Miraculously,” said Cornelia, “he is. I can’t quite believe it. He lost consciousness in the middle of the experiment and slipped into a seizure. We almost stopped the whole thing.” She walked over to Sylvain and rubbed his shoulder; the smile briefly dropped from her face. “We’re lucky. The experiment succeeded, but neither of you fully stabilized. Basically, while you have the Crest of Gautier now, there’s a chance your body— and his— could return to normal in the next couple of hours and we could have to do this again. Thales decided that you should rest up and we will wait to see what happens.”

_So, we both lived._

Despite the chance that the crest would not stabilize, Miklan was glad to see that he’d escaped the procedure with his life. At least now he knew that his body was capable of housing a crest. He knew he could handle it. 

“This is such valuable data,” Cornelia went on. “I have no doubt that we were successful this time because both of you were so compatible. If we review things, we could figure out how to fake this blood compatibility in the future and…” She giggled. “We control the crests.”

“Congratulations.” Miklan slipped off the table and wobbled to his feet. “I’m going to sleep in my bed. We’ll see how things are when I wake. And my brother…” Stepping forward, Miklan peered over at Sylvain’s limp form and almost questioned if Cornelia had been mistaken about his survival. 

Cornelia smirked.

“We’ll decide his fate in a couple of hours.”


	13. Beyond Sylvain's Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 40k words! (^.^)
> 
> I can't believe I only started this a month ago. That's a lot of writing! My best has been 50k+ in one month though (for NaNoWriMo)
> 
> In further news, I'm just so pleased I've gotten a couple of comments recently. Comments just truly warm my heart and soul. So, thank you!

When Miklan awoke, the first thing he did was check Sylvain’s… no… _his_ crest. 

Still there.

 _Does this mean it’s permanent now?_ Miklan thought as he watched the glyph shimmer before him, it’s strength flowing through his nerves. Cornelia had implied that if the effects lasted this long, then that would mean Miklan had finally stabilized. As he cupped his hands around the crest, a new thought occupied his mind,

_I no longer need Sylvain…_

Once Miklan got the okay from the Agarthans, then it would be time to send his brother to meet their father. Briefly, the bandit wondered about how he’d do it. He hadn’t lied before; he truly wanted to make the end quick and relatively painless. Though it felt ridiculous to admit, he was stuck on the idea that he perhaps owed Sylvain that much in the end. A clean stab to the heart or a swift blade across the throat in his sleep… Those were good options. 

Hopping off his bed, Miklan made up his mind to pay Sylvain a final visit before he met with Thales and the others. For once in his whole life, he felt as though he could speak commandingly, freely— without being so acutely aware of the complex his brother had given him over the years. 

Miklan hurried down the hall, part of him fearing that Cornelia had decided to keep Sylvain in the lab and, as he creaked open the door, he half expected to find the cell empty. But Sylvain was there, laying on the floor fast asleep. 

The bandit knelt, frowning and hoping that this was just normal sleep and not a coma. Though he hadn’t noticed before, right after the excitement of the experiment… he now saw that his brother had changed physically. His skin had lost so much pigment and his hair was a much softer, milkier shade of orange; some strands were completely white. Wondering if he himself looked similar, Miklan reached forward and prodded his brother’s shoulder. Sylvain’s body almost rolled back but, then, it fell limply back into place. 

_Come on… wake up…_ Miklan thought as he shoved a bit harder.

Finally, Sylvain stirred. His lashes fluttered briefly and his stiff fingers stretched across the stone. Then, he blinked up at Miklan, and a dull expression— like he hadn’t quite left whatever dream he’d been having— spanned his face. After a few moments, the gravity of the situation seemed to hit Sylvain and his eyes widened. Breathing shallowly, he looked at his palm. He shook it a few times before closing his eyes with a pained grimace.

“It’s gone…” he murmured. Miklan held his own hand up to Sylvain and produced the crest easily.

“It belongs to me now,” he said simply.

Sylvain tried to sit up and fell onto his belly, wincing hard. Miklan, realizing that his brother was lying directly on his own fractured ribs, set him onto his back. He felt amazed at how naturally the gesture had come to him— an action unclouded by hatred. 

Once more, Miklan thought of the night of his thirteenth birthday. He had appreciated Sylvain’s gift until that night had ended so sourly. Perhaps, that was why Miklan failed to remember that event until now… Because it had ended just as any other day— with him wishing every kind of misfortune on his careless mother, his cruel father…

And his overindulged brother. 

But, now… now Miklan had no direction left to go. He had no business left with his father or his mother; he’d punished them both. He had no friends to share his joy with or to return to triumphantly. The only person left in his life was this hurt teenage boy in front of him… someone Miklan had run out of reasons to despise. 

_I promised I’d kill him._ Miklan reminded himself. He watched Sylvain’s expression curiously. He’d never seen his brother look so utterly defeated, so… depressed. When they were kids, Sylvain had learned quickly that he could enthrall most people by just smiling sweetly. Then, when he got older, he’d lost his childish cuteness, but gained his handsome looks and a mature sense of charm. Miklan had resented Sylvain even more for all of those things, all those blessings that had passed _him_ up. Still, it amazed Miklan how much Sylvain had faith in his own charisma. 

Whenever Miklan bullied him, he got up and smiled just to defuse the situation. When Glenn Fraldarius returned home in a casket… Miklan knew how much grief his brother must have felt, but he didn’t _see_ much of it. Sylvain did cry… but then he smiled for Miklan, for their parents, and for Felix… He treated his smile as a shell to encase whatever he was feeling. And this shell protected him from people like Miklan who would use his vulnerability… or people like their parents who would treat Sylvain as if he were a teacup teetering at the edge of the table— something they’d all fret over because it was too expensive to crack. 

But now… That charm, that smile, and even the smug confidence Sylvain developed as he grew older were nowhere to be seen. He didn’t raise his shell to Miklan. The permanently twisted part of Miklan wondered how to best exploit this vulnerability— with cruelty or kindness?

Before he could decide, however, some strength returned to Sylvain’s eyes. Taken aback, Miklan said, 

“What? What did you think about just now?”

Sylvain shook his head. “Nothing,” he said at last. He coughed then sucked in air through his teeth, clutching his torso. 

Miklan narrowed his eyes, displeased. 

“Whatever, then. I just wanted to see what had happened to you.” 

A glimmer of that vulnerability returned, but Sylvain steeled himself again. 

“Why didn’t you just kill me after the surgery?”

“Things hadn’t stabilized yet,” Miklan replied nonchalantly.

“So… if you check with your masters and they say things still haven’t stabilized, I won’t be killed?”

The word “masters” made Miklan eager to strike Sylvain, but he stopped himself. He didn’t want Sylvain to think he could still bother him. Miklan simply said, 

“I suppose. But don’t count on it.”

Sylvain nodded. “That’s something at least. It gives Dimitri and the others some time to get here.” 

Now, Miklan understood that look, that return to confidence his brother had gone through. It was because— unlike Miklan— Sylvain still _did_ have people to return to. 

“You think they’ll want you?” Miklan mocked. “You’re weak.”

“My friends aren’t like you or Mother or Father,” Sylvain said. “Even though my crest is gone, I’m not worthless to them!”

Miklan wanted to raise some biting counter-argument… but he couldn’t find one. He knew that Sylvain was so obviously right and this fact irritated him. In the end, Miklan would still be the lonely one— the one everyone hated. Once, he’d had Philip and Buxton and… even further back… he’d had Sylvain in a sense. Miklan hadn’t capitalized on his brother’s foolishness, even though Sylvain would have been so easy to manipulate. Miklan had just hated his brother so much that he couldn’t even pretend to humor him. And now… Sylvain no longer needed Miklan.

No one did. 

Though he had a crest, Miklan had no real power. He was a test rat to the Agarthans, a criminal to the people of the Gautier Margravate, and an eyesore to his own brother. He was still nothing. 

Angrily, Miklan stood. 

“They won’t rescue you,” he said. “And don’t claim they will again or I’ll hurt you.” 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t torment me anymore,” said Sylvain, more snippy than surprised. 

“I don’t care what I said. Don’t mention any of them.”

Sylvain, with difficulty, turned away from Miklan and stared at the wall. He was no longer willing to say anything. Miklan returned to the door and swung it back open with a huff. Before leaving, he glanced at his brother one last time and, still, Sylvain watched the wall.

Miklan slammed the door on his way out.

  
  
  


“I still have the crest,” Miklan told the Agarthans as he arrived in the lab, “and I just checked on Sylvain. He doesn’t seem like he’ll get his back.”

“Then I’d say this definitely worked.” Cornelia held up an obsidian cup, stirred the contents with one long nail, and sipped. Beside her, Kronya clapped.

“Woo! So what will we do with your brother?” she asked. Smoothly, she took a dagger from the table and flourished it. “Flaying him would be funny. I haven’t seen someone die of shock in a while.”

“You would be responsible for cleaning that up, Kronya,” said Cornelia, though she seemed amused by the idea as well. Miklan didn’t respond for a moment. He caught a whiff of whatever Cornelia was drinking, and it smelled earthy. The scent calmed him somehow, made him think about his conversation with Sylvain objectively. 

Flaying was out of the question. Even if Miklan hadn’t been opposed to torturing his brother, that method would have bothered him. He’d never drawn out his victims deaths that long; he simply had better things to do with his time. The only moment Miklan had even considered committing a slow murder was when he’d faced Prince Dimitri at the ruined Conand Tower…

But Miklan’s heart was just no longer into the idea of abusing his brother… There was little left to hate about Sylvain except… that people still loved him. 

“It’s been enough,” he said at last. “Let’s just….”

He wanted to suggest a simple execution, but even that idea felt wrong to him. 

“You seem conflicted,” said Solon. Miklan hadn’t noticed him at first, but there he sat in the far corner, gripping his staff with gnarled hands. 

“It’s just…” Miklan sighed. “Like I said, it’s been enough. I’m tired of this. And he already went through that whole experiment alive. Anything else we could do would just be anti-climatic.” 

“I can’t help but agree,” said Thales. “I suppose I can respect his will to live at least. Countless people have been killed in our experiments and yet he survived. In the past, we released two girls as a reward for beating those odds.”

“They were both valuable creations,” Cornelia pointed out. “But Sylvain Gautier has nothing of worth left. He was a resource more than anything. Besides, we can’t just let him walk free at this point. He’s seen my face! Surely, he’ll report that to the prince and we shall lose our foothold in Faerghus.”

Solon scowled. “That is your own fault. Why must you stay in that form?”

“I like it,” huffed Cornelia, slamming her cup onto a nearby table, sending a splash of dark liquid over the side. “Surface dwellers have such lovely forms…”

“Enough.” Thales crossed his arms and stared at Miklan. His lack of pupils and irises made him difficult for Miklan to read; the lead Agarthan always seemed so collected and icy. Finally, he said, “Miklan, this is in your hands entirely. You may keep your brother alive for as long as you please or kill him whenever you wish. However, as Cornelia said, he cannot be set free. Unlike your mother, he’s been entirely lucid this whole time and knows too much about Shambhala and the Agarthans. We cannot allow this information to reach the prince or archbishop.”

Miklan nodded slowly, inwardly pleased with this decision. It gave him time, at the very least, to decide on things and to come to terms with everything. Besides that, there was something satisfying about being placed in charge of his brother’s fate. 

“Understood,” he told Thales. “I’m just wondering… what do you all plan to do next, now that this was a success?”

Thales smiled darkly. “War,” he said. “We have an associate working on that. We have our hooks in Adrestia, Faerghus, and even at the monastery now. Only Leicester is free from our influence. However, that does not concern me too greatly. Once Faerghus collapses, Leichester will be threatened at both borders. They’ll surrender in due time.” 

Miklan frowned; it seemed like yesterday he was making plans to visit Leicester. But so much had happened these last several weeks, foiling those plans. Still, he was curious about that place.

“I only know about the prince of Faerghus,” said Miklan. “What about Adrestia’s princess and the Leichester’s heir? What are they like?”

Kronya giggled, stretching enough to pop her spine. “The princess—!”

Thales shot her a look which got under Miklan’s skin. The bandit knew then that the Agarthans had plans which they’d never fully clue him into— no matter how much he did for them. But this was not the hill Miklan wished to die on, so he continued to listen.

“She’s a strong girl,” said Thales, “and she’s quite capable. She’s what you’d expect any future emperor to be. As for Leichester’s heir… I do believe Solon has been keeping an eye on him.”

“He just comes into Garreg Mach’s library often,” said Solon gruffly. “He’s a sharp boy. Mysterious too. No one knows how he came to bear the Crest of Reigan. The current duke’s only son died in an accident and his daughter vanished years ago, so the best guess is that the boy belongs to the daughter. Perhaps she had him out of wedlock and is too ashamed to show her face to the council. From what I’ve heard, Count Gloucester has been trying to revoke the boy’s bloodright due to his vague heritage.”

_Revoke his bloodright…_

Miklan, though he had no idea who this young duke was, could empathize with him. He knew what it was like to be deemed unworthy. He almost felt sorry that this guy— whoever he was— would ultimately lose his territory to the Agarthans if not Gloucester first. But Miklan couldn’t feel _too_ sorry; he wanted to see Fodlan change too, the old nobles buried under their own collapsing dynasties. 

“Let me destroy the Margraviate,” he said at last. “I still desire revenge for what the Blue Lions did.”

_Besides… once they're dead, then Sylvain will be…_

Thales considered this. “Perhaps attacking the Gautier villagers would make a suitable test. This crest transfer experiment was not the only thing we needed to prepare for this war. We had a plan to increase our ranks… Miklan, Kronya warned you about using the Lance of Ruin, without a crest did she not?”

Miklan nodded. “She mentioned it. Why? What happens?”

Cornelia giggled. “You become a beast. Imagine your bones breaking and reforming and your mind going mad. That is the effect crest stones have on people who do not bear the same dragon’s sign. The idea is that these creatures can become tools of war.”

“You intend to turn the Gautier villagers into monsters,” mumbled Miklan. “Then slaves…”

“Does that idea disturb you?” Kronya leaned forward, a catlike grin on her face. Like always, one eye was hidden under a flop of orange hair, but her remaining eye watched Miklan fiendishly. The red color reminded him much of the runes Cornelia had used during the experiment. 

The egregiousness of the idea was certainly not lost on Miklan. Stripping someone— dozens of people— of their humanity and then treating them like animals was a concept that came out of horror stories. That kind of attack seemed like the work of some generic, legendary demon. Perhaps the Agarthans _were_ demons. They certainly looked the part. Still, Miklan didn’t recoil from their proposal; the idea of killing the Lions and wiping the Gautier territory of the map was too sweet to him. 

“No. I’ll do it,” he told them. “But I ask for one thing.”

“Which is?” Thales raised an eyebrow.

“The Lance of Ruin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not clear-- this attack they're planning is supposed to be based on the Remire Village chapter of 3H.


	14. Beyond Edelgard's Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like the thing people most appreciate about this fic are the super frequent uploads. It's almost daily at this point because I write during the afternoons and post at night or the next morning. I'm hoping I can finish this by the time quarantine is over, but I genuinely don't know how long this will end up being.

“Claude, it is good to see you.”

Dimitri couldn’t help but smile as the leader of the Golden Deer stepped into the inn with his companions close in tow. Though he’d journeyed a long way to get there, Claude didn’t seem sluggish; he still watched the Lions with an energized expression. Behind him, Hilda popped up onto her tip-toes to stretch her calves and Lysithea crossed her arms and studied each Lion with calculating eyes. Marianne only looked up from her shoes once, met Dimitri’s gaze, and then quickly lowered her head once more. 

“It’s good to see you too.” Claude glanced around for a moment at the other Lions, his expression dropping slightly. “Where’s Teach?”

“With Lady Gautier. They’re working on plans for the margraviate's security.” Dimitri frowned and tried not to give anything away with his eyes. The Golden Deer’s leader was far too good at reading expressions and Dimitri was worried about what kind of emotions he’d show. “She’s been dealing with so much… Lady Gautier. She only recently organized a funeral for Lord Gautier and assumed control of the territory. The town has settled down and things are running smoothly, but I’m sure she’s still suffering. She’s still got her injuries and Sylvain is… still missing.” 

“I’m sorry. Rhea debriefed Edelgard and me on everything.”

At last, Dimitri looked up. He no longer felt as though he deserved to hide his thoughts. He’d failed the Church, his team, and— most of all— Sylvain. 

“You predicted that something like this would happen. I should have been more cautious.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Claude said the words comfortingly, trying to sweep aside Dimitri’s self-criticisms. “You are one of the least negligent people I know. Don’t beat yourself up.” 

“I should have let Professor Byleth handle things,” Dimitri insisted. “I just wanted the Lions to show off. I was imprudent…”

Again, Claude swept aside the thought. “Sometimes she hangs back on our missions too. You were right to believe that you couldn’t have a teacher entirely solve your problems for you. Come on, this is a lot coming from me. I don’t even understand the formalities and pride that you and Edelgard talk about half the time. I’ll use every trick in the book when it comes to fighting. But, I think _this_ was all unprecedented.” 

“If you say so…” said Dimitri with a sigh. This seemed to satisfy Claude.

“How about we all sit down? Explain every detail.”  
  


They gathered in the lounge, Lions and Deer mingling together. Claude, Hilda, Marianne, and Lysithea listened patiently as Dimitri and the others filled in the gaps of Byleth’s letter then went beyond that, recounting their attempt to take Conand Tower. 

“Goddess! You’re sure Sylvain wasn’t there, right?” said Hilda, startled.

“He wasn’t.” Ingrid’s voice was sudden and curt. Mercedes gently touched her shoulder.

“We didn’t find his body and his brother said he was being held elsewhere,” she clarified softly. 

“That’s our biggest problem now,” said Dimitri with a nod. “Conand Tower was our only lead. But now… They could be keeping him anywhere in Faerghus.”

“Not just Faerghus,” said Claude evenly. He kept his arms crossed and his eyes on his knees, but he also seemed acutely aware of the Lion’s stunned stares. “You described these enemies appearing and disappearing out of nowhere. That… gives us a significantly larger area to cover. Depending on how powerful whatever warp they’re using is… They could have taken Sylvain to some base in Adrestia or Leicester for all we know.”

“You’ve just increased our area of interest to all of Fodlan.” Felix sounded furious, though pinpointing the source of his anger was difficult— Claude, Sylvain’s kidnappers, or the situation itself. Or some mix of it all. Roughly, Felix pushed his cuffs up. The angry wrinkles on his brow deepened. 

“If they took him outside Faerghus…” said Ashe in a small voice. “It could be months before we’d ever find and reach him.” In an even smaller voice, he said, “It could be years…”

“Hey, don’t panic,” said Hilda while all the Lions looked about ready to do just that. She held up her hands gently. “We need to think of ways to narrow our search remotely. We’re not going to aimlessly wander around Fodlan looking.”

“Exactly.” Claude offered a smile. “Now, the obvious answer would have been to take our own prisoners… If we could have nabbed a hostage from Conand Tower, we could have forced out answers. And, from what you said, Miklan did seem to care about those men. He might have agreed to a hostage swap. Unfortunately…” With a frown, Claude tapped his jaw and his thoughts seemed to change direction. “I wonder who did that and what they stood to gain. Was it someone who loved the margrave and wanted their own revenge? Or perhaps someone thought ahead and wanted to _prevent_ a hostage situation… In any case, this mystery killer of ours really messed things up.” 

“There’s no use talking about what we could have done.” Again, Ingrid’s tone was brusque and cold as iron. “What do we do now?” 

Just as Claude was about to resume speaking, the lounge door opened and Byleth Eisner stepped in. When she saw her house leader, a faint joy passed over her face. She stepped forward and then paused to speak. 

“I have nothing of interest to report,” she told Dimitri. “Lady Gautier’s condition has been improving but… She’s finding it hard to cope with Sylvain’s situation.”

“As expected,” said Dimitri quietly. “Sit with us.”

She nodded and took the free seat beside Marianne. Claude didn’t continue right away; he watched Byleth briefly, her presence giving him a visible boost in confidence. 

“We need to bait Miklan with whatever he would want,” proposed Claude. “If it’s as you say and these crest experiments are the foundation for war, then his goals are pretty lofty. And we just need to meet them. Even if it means offering the margraviate.” 

“Are you crazy?” said Felix, his irritation clearly focused on Claude now. “You can’t hand this entire territory over to a madman.” 

“I don’t intend to,” said Claude smoothly. “It’s called lying, Felix. It’s when you say something that isn’t actually true.”

Felix’s face reddened and his hand fell to the saber on his hip, but this action didn’t seem to bother Claude. He knew Felix wouldn’t draw. Dimitri considered scolding Felix— and Ingrid. The two of them had been nothing but snappish this whole meeting. But Dimitri held back, understanding how scared and agitated they were feeling. People showed their distress in different ways.

“We’d offer a trade for Sylvain and then not honor it?” Dimitri said.

“That’s the idea. I know you might be a little too proper to stoop that low, but it’s honestly the only thing I’ve got. Even if he ultimately denies our offer, we still might get some clue from his response. For example, whether or not this experiment of theirs worked…”

“They’d be much more willing to trade Sylvain back if it worked,” Dedue realized. 

Claude nodded. 

“Normally… I do try to keep my promises,” Dimitri admitted. “But that cretin deserves no such courtesy.” 

“I agree,” Byleth cut in. “But allow me to suggest an amendment to the plan.”

She unsheathed her sword and rested it on the coffee table. It did not glint as metal would, but its edges were still undeniably sharp, as if she had just whetted them. Dimitri had only seen her blade fully activated a few times; when Byleth used it, its hot glow could almost frighten enemies away all on its own. 

“This,” she said. “Miklan’s associates were likely connected with the mausoleum raid. For this sword, they were willing to attack a Church-operated academy. Then Miklan Gautier stole the Lance of Ruin. We know they want the relics. So, offering them one would be a more enticing and believable exchange than the margraviate.”

Claude leaned back, a big smile revealing both rows of his white teeth. He flinched with excitement. 

“This is why I love you so much, Teach— always refining my brilliant ideas.” He stretched his arms behind his head. “It’s perfect. We’ll see if Miklan’ll give us Sylvain for the Sword of the Creator. That will buy us time and peace of mind at least. I’m still in favor of hoodwinking him, but if we do lose the sword… Well, that is preferable to leaving Sylvain with them. The sword can definitely be retrieved at some point. And no one but Teach can even use it properly.”

“Unless their true aim is to find a way to use the relics... by getting crests into their own blood,” said Annette thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s what Lady Gautier heard them saying.”

“That could be it,” Dimitri admitted. “But I agree with Claude. I’d rather risk the sword than Sylvain’s life.”

No one argued; they all felt the same way. 

“Then let’s get to work.” Ingrid pushed herself up from the couch. “We need to get our enemies’ attention. They’ll probably respond discreetly, like when they asked Sylvain to come to the well, but _we_ can be as open as possible.”

“Right,” said Claude. “A mass declaration. What happened to Conand Tower? Can we leave a statement there too?”

“I informed Lady Gautier of the situation and we sent some soldiers to clear out the bodies,” said Dimitri. “But we can leave a message there on the off chance that Miklan revisits. We should focus on getting the word out around town.”

Now, Dimitri stood. Though he wouldn’t admit it in front of his team, Claude and Byleth were like a trellises for him. As a trellis supported plants and guided them up towards the light, urging them not to collapse on themselves…. Claude and Byleth seemed able to pull Dimitri out of whatever hopeless slump he found himself in. They could draw him away from the part of himself that doubted his abilities and his sanity. 

Now they had a game plan. And Dimitri would not lose his control. 

*****

  
  


“Are the others asleep?”

“Yes, My Lady.” Hubert smiled thinly as he closed the door behind him. “I checked myself. And the grounds are deserted. We will not be bothered.”

Edelgard blew a narrow line of air and leaned back against the wall. Normally, she did not recline on her bed when she had a guest in her chamber, but Hubert was different. Though she tried to be stern and commanding with him— as he expected of her— he was also a dear friend with whom she could be casual with. 

“Good. We must discuss things.”

“It got to you, didn’t it?” Hubert’s expression usually never changed, but now was one of the rare occasions where it did. His eyebrows turned upwards just slightly at the ends, slackening his harsh appearance. “What that woman said about the Professor’s letter.”

At first, Edelgard could only nod. But she forced herself to explain; when she had the opportunity to alleviate the weight of all her secrets, she tried to. 

“If this had just been a conflict between Miklan and the nobility, I would have turned a blind eye. I would have even accepted Those Who Slither’s involvement. Sylvain’s brother is a perfect example of this system’s failings, and in the end, Sylvain would have been a merely unfortunate casualty. I’d already decided that my path is worth Dimitri, Claude, and maybe even my Eagles’ lives. Sylvain is nothing. But this situation... I can’t accept this. Those monsters intend to use him as they used me and my siblings. Not only is that vile, it just perpetuates the crest system.” 

“So what will you have us do?”

Edelgard didn’t have an immediate answer. Part of her wanted to kill Sylvain and Miklan herself. She wanted to spare them the torture of a crest experiment— if hadn’t already happened. Edelgard couldn’t allow such experiments to take place for other reasons as well. She desired a world where no one thought about crests. While she didn’t entirely mind granting crests to the worthy, that system still placed more value in the goddess and in mystical signs than it did in man. She needed to dig this all up at the roots… But she had no idea how. Though Thales and the others were her allies, they were just as wary of her as she was of them. Because of this, she had no idea where their hideaway was. Hubert was working on that, but he could only do so much alone. She needed more help...

At first, Edelgard thought that the Death Knight would be a suitable new ally, but he came with a host of issues, a curse. And she knew that most of (if not all) the Eagles would object to her plans. It was sad, she knew, but she could not even trust her closest friends. 

“I wanted _her_!” Edelgard stood up from the bed suddenly. 

Hubert, who’d heard this statement many times before, understood where Edelgard’s thoughts had gone. 

“Professor Byleth,” he said. “If she’d joined our house, you would have had more to work with.”

Edelgard began to pace back and forth. 

“Perhaps I could have convinced her, made her an ally. You didn’t see her that night, Hubert. She really was an Ashen Demon and… she defended me without hesitation. If only…” Edelgard shook her head. “This is a subject I stubbornly return to. She just grows more loyal to the Deer with each passing moon. Now, she’s lent her strength to Dimitri.” Edelgard knew her tone sounded bitter and was glad that only Hubert could hear it. 

“If I might be so bold, why didn’t you volunteer for the mission?” Herbert asked. “You could have had time with her and thought of something…”

“True. But this was a precious opportunity,” said Edelgard. “Our siege of Garreg Mach is only a few moons away. With so many students gone and the knights busy, I have the perfect opportunity to finish up preparations. That is most important.”

Edelgard stopped pacing and stared out her window. Tonight, a perfect quarter moon drizzled a muted glow over the monastery grounds. The princess could imagine nocturnal animals stalking around the lawns for mice while diurnal creatures snoozed in dens and nests, not unlike the students of the monastery. 

“By the time Claude, Dimitri, and the professor return, everything will be in order. And I will destroy them,” she said. She cracked her window open, just to feel some of the night air. “Even the professor…” 

Edelgard forced herself to imagine Byleth’s death, as if that would give her a taste of what seeing her die would feel like. That feeling was like a poison she wanted to build an immunity to sip by sip until she became numb. But still… It made her sick.

Finally, Edelgard sighed, lowered her head, and made up her mind to take one, tiny risk. “Hubert, learn all you can about Those Who Slither in the Dark's whereabouts. If you can help her save Sylvain, do it. Though we will likely be on opposite sides… I'll try to put some conflict in her heart.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (0.0) I'm sorry. Lots of things happening here-- but it will all converge, I promise!


	15. Beyond Beasts and Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Announcement!  
> I decided to make an FE twitter just to interact with the fic/artist community. I wanted to see if I could use it to post more information and/or updates outside of just talking at people in the chapter notes. My handle is @DawnedOnMe33 (note: I changed my author name to that here too).
> 
> Thanks for getting through this announcement with me!

Admittedly, Dimitri felt a little silly trying to get Miklan’s attention this way. As they'd discussed, he and his friends posted notices over town and at Conand Tower. They also stirred up conversation in bars, cafes, and inns. Soon, every citizen of the margraviate knew that the Prince of Faerghus was offering a valuable relic for Sylvain Gautier’s return. However… Dimitri still had no idea whether or not Miklan himself was seeing any of this. The prince felt as though he were frantically waving his arms, trying to get the attention of a wyvern rider flying miles above him. 

“This was the best we could do,” Annette said when they gathered at the Gautier estate. Coming from her, the statement seemed like a definitive fact. Despite her clumsiness, Annette was the hardest worker among the Lions; she always thought she could do better. Many nights, Dimitri caught her shaking herself awake in the library as she reviewed tomes for exams she was already certain to pass. So, if Annette thought their efforts had been enough, they likely were. 

“Where did you ask to meet with him?” wondered Phoebe Gautier. Earlier, she’d called for tea and a maid had just arrived at the door with a trolley of snacks and beverages. Phoebe rolled the cart into the room.

“The well like before,” Dimitri told her. “We’ll be sure to frequent the town. Hopefully, he’ll give us a word on a time to meet.”

Lady Gautier nodded. She poured a reddish flavor of tea into a blue and white cup; her hand twitched once and she sloshed tea onto the saucer.

“Are you doing all right, ma’am?” asked Ingrid, rising to help. “Let me do it.”

She took the pot and began to divvy out the tea, keeping her eye on Phoebe as she poured. 

Dimitri was pleased with how well Sylvain’s mother had recovered from all that had happened, but certain things about her appearance and demeanor had completely changed. She was jumpier now and her eyes often went blank when he spoke with her. Her physical appearance had changed too; Dimitri remembered her always taking great care to look well-ordered and elegant. But, now, she wore no jewelry or layers, only a simple heather-grey dress. In the past, she wore her hair in elaborate fishtail braids every day. Now, her orange hair was loose and fell to her hips in frizzy waves. 

Frowning at Ingrid’s measured pours, Lady Gautier said,

“I’m all right… I was just…” She wrung her sleeve. “I’ve been wondering a lot lately if it's sinful to pray for your own child’s death. What would the goddess think…”

Her words brought a frigidness to the room. Dimitri knew that no one judged her but… retaining composure was difficult in the face of somebody’s darkest thoughts. Anything he could say to her would only sound trite, so he kept his silence. In the corner, he noticed Marianne’s eyes widen and shimmer. She clasped her hands and murmured something to herself. Claude glanced at her briefly as well before saying,

“It’s impossible to tell what she’d think. And there’s no point in waiting for the goddess to clean up your life for you.” He took his cup of tea from Ingrid without drinking it. “Let’s form our own lives, according to our own visions.”

Dimitri could tell that this was a topic Claude had thought about before; all the humor vanished from his demeanor and he stood still, gripping his full teacup. 

“My own vision is impossible…” said Phoebe quietly. “I want my husband back and that’s impossible. And I want Sylvain back and I…” She pressed her palms over her eyes and her lip trembled. “I just want that so badly…”

Lysithea stood, prompting everyone to look at her. She seemed unsure as to why she’d risen so abruptly, but made no statement. She only crossed her arms and turned her head to the side, training her eyes on the blue-and-gold wallpaper. Dimitri wondered what was going on with her. He’d spoken to Claude late one night at a tavern, after a long walk, and Claude had filled him in on what had happened at Garreg Mach after Byleth’s letter. Edelgard and Lysithea’s reactions seemed the most abnormal. Both girls seemed as though they’d seen the situation in an entirely different perspective than everyone else…

“Households only benefit from the living,” Lysithea said at last. “Mourn your husband, but don’t let his memory stop you from rebuilding. There are things to be done. Quickly.”

Dimitri nodded. “Well said. I suppose Sylvain will become Margrave Gautier the moment he graduates now. Once we rescue him… then at least we can get certain things back to normal.”

Hilda sipped her tea, leaving pink lipstick on the cup’s rim. 

“Right. So let’s talk about a plan for if we meet with Miklan. Do we—”

_FFFFMMMMB!!!_

A dull rumble shook the room. Above Marianne, a picture fell off its hook and Dedue snatched it before it could smash into the back of her head. The tea trolley rattled; the untouched desserts on the cake tower swayed gelatinously. 

“That came from the town,” said Ingrid, rushing to the window, Felix close behind. 

“What the hell is this,” said Felix in a low tone as he stared out.

Dimitri, Claude, and Byleth arrived at the window next and saw the village in the distance. A polluted fog oozed from the gates and over the walls, coating the ground with a violet film. Again, the village shook.

“Let’s go!” said Dimitri. “Now!” Upon second thought, he said. “Dedue, stay here and protect Lady Gautier in case this is a diversion.”

“My Lord…” Dedue’s breath caught as if he’d intended to say more and stopped himself. With a start, Dimitri remembered their conversation about crests and Duscur. In that context, his vassal’s concern made sense. Guiltily, Dimitri recalled his promise to stay by Dedue’s side. He hated himself for disregarding his friend’s wish so quickly, but Dedue was the first person he trusted to act as security in his stead. 

“I’m sorry. I know what I said. I…”

Dedue shook his head. “No. Please, forget about it. I’ll do as instructed.”

He— unintentionally, of course— only made Dimitri feel worse, but there was no time to talk things out. 

“Thank you. We will deal with this quickly.”  
  


When Dimitri and the others reached the village, they immediately saw the true extent of the damage. Flames ate away at homes and businesses and the only people not panicking and running around confused were those whose corpses littered the roads. A long roar sounded off from deeper in town and more of that eerie, purple mist poured through the streets.

The chaos… the nauseating stench of blood… the hot air… All this made Dimitri’s head spin. These sights, feelings, and smells were all too familiar and they began to play tricks on him. For a moment, he thought he heard a voice he knew— a voice that sounded exactly like Glenn’s— calling to him from a stall that sold magic sparklers during every festival. Now, that stall drowned in purple smoke and flames. Glenn’s voice seemed to say,

_Will you let them get away with this?_

This town, this place where Dimitri had met many of his dearest friends, was disappearing. 

And ghosts were emerging. 

“My Prince!” A soldier bounded towards the group. Behind him, a young girl, likely a trainee, struggled to keep his pace. Her sleeve had been burned away and the skin beneath was red and blistering. The older soldier bowed quickly, glanced back at his companion and continued. “There are strangers in town, ones who wear black masks! They’ve done something to the villagers! People are panicking and they’re— they’re mutating! Please— we don’t know what to do!”

“We identified Miklan Gautier,” said the trainee girl quickly. “He was with them. He’s done this.” Her eyes fell to her burn and she shook with anger. “He deserves to die…”

Dimitri tried to process all they’d said. Miklan was here with his mysterious allies and they were creating monsters somehow… 

“No this can’t be…” Marianne’s voice was crisp as if it would break. “People turning into beasts…”

“Calm yourself,” Claude told her sternly. He turned his attention to Dimitri. “What are your orders?”

They were all waiting for Dimitri to speak. Still, he could barely clear the bedlam from his own head; he felt himself splitting— into a Dimitri who knew he needed to stay collected and into a Dimitri who would only be satisfied if he could kill. 

“Spread out and find the source of this.” Dimitri heard himself say. “Gut all these masked men like swine. Leave a bounty for the maggots!” 

He knew his voice had come out strangely, frighteningly, but he continued forward. The foul smoke, the rumbles of beasts, and the heat of the fire— none of it would stop him from finding Miklan Gautier.

Claude must have filled the holes in Dimitri’s command. The other Lions and Deer took off, covering all areas of the town while Byleth and Claude chased after Dimitri. 

“Let us help you get Miklan!” Claude called, catching up. “You can’t kill him on sight! That would ruin everything!”

“It would stop him from harming Sylvain or another person in this town ever again!!”

“Yes, but we need to try for more than that!”

Dimitri clucked his tongue in annoyance; Claude’s desire to stick to the plan and reel Miklan in gently had no regard for the fallen. It abandoned the ghosts Miklan needed to answer to. Dimitri stopped and whirled to face Claude. 

“Shut up! You’re just an outsider! It’s easy for you to say such things— this town means nothing to you!”

Something he’d said struck a nerve. Claude recoiled and the brief shock in his green eyes almost brought Dimitri back to reality... only for the holler of a child far in the distance to plunge him deeper into his rage. 

Byleth approached Dimitri, gently touching Claude’s shoulder as she moved. 

“He’s right. If you kill aimlessly, you’ll be creating another Conand Tower. The price of temporary gratification is too high, Dimitri.” 

The sound of his name on her tongue gave him pause. On his better days, Dimitri would have loved it. He would have been perfectly content with knowing that she saw _him_ and not just a prince. But now, he felt disrespected— as if she were trying to somehow ignore his rank. 

“You’ll do as I say,” he said coldly.

But, before he could turn away from her, a snarl from the alleyway caught their attention. An enormous flash of gray bounded out from the dark and barreled into Byleth. A beast pinned her into the cobblestone pathway. It roared, exposing fangs the size of Dimitri’s fist and saliva dripped from its mouth onto Byleth’s face, smoking acidically as it contacted her skin. The professor screamed and pulled her legs towards her chest before kicking hard into the beast’s underbelly. The creature screeched and fell back, wobbling on its hind legs. Byleth brought her sword back and the Crest of Flames appeared, charging her weapon with a golden glow. She lunged and impaled the creature. 

For a moment, the slain beast twitched. Then its scales began to evaporate into steam. The beast shrunk more and more as its flesh deteriorated and, finally, nothing remained on Byleth’s blade but a young woman, skewered through the heart and staring up at the sky with eyes fixed in a shocked state. 

Byleth’s lips parted as she stared at her victim in horror. Claude covered his mouth with the side of his fist, but his creased brow gave away his revulsion. Gently, the professor removed her sword and lay the woman on the ground, closing her eyes. When Byleth tried to stand again, she staggered and Dimitri noticed three long claw marks stretching from beneath one of her breasts to the opposite hip. The beast had broken through her armor, leaving behind wounds that smoked like the saliva it had dripped onto her cheek. 

“Professor…” Dimitri felt his heart stop briefly. He reached out a hand without touching her; his fingers simply hovered in the air before dropping back to his side. 

“These things are venomous,” said Claude. “Teach, we need to get you back to the manor. Or we need to find Marianne— or Mercedes!”

“Not now. I can still go on. Besides…”

Her eyes narrowed at some movement behind Claude; Two, then three, more of the beasts crawled from the alleys. Their claws marred up the stone walkways as they advanced. Claude drew his bow and removed an arrow from the quiver on his hip. 

“Those are villagers,” said Dimitri quietly. He felt about ready to vomit.

“It’s unfortunate,” said Claude, “but we can’t just let them have at us. We need to fight back.”

Byleth stood at Claude’s side, raising the Sword of the Creator. Though her stance wasn’t quite as solid as usual, Dimitri could barely tell that she was suffering from such a nasty wound. He understood then why people referred to her as the Ashen Demon; she was almost inhuman in battle. 

The monsters growled and scraped closer. If they boxed Dimitri in, he’d lose precious time— and his chance at finding Miklan. 

“I’ll try to go through with the plan,” Dimitri decided at last, “if you two can hold these things off.”

Claude nodded, one of his trademark smiles creeping back onto his face. “Atta boy. Yeah, we’ll hold them. But if Teach starts struggling, I’m taking her back to the manor.” 

“Please do so.”

Dimtri glanced at Byleth, half expecting her to say something. But she remained silent. Dimitri felt her wounds on his conscience and could not tell if she was avoiding him as punishment or if she was simply acting as her normal stoic self. Once this was all over, he wished to speak with her privately… But for now, Miklan needed to be found, captured, and punished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm concerned that it looks like the story is diverging from its original plot line. I swear it's not XD.  
> I thought about making this chapter extra long so we could get back to that side of the story immediately next time, but then I realized that I should just cut the chapter as I did and have a half-Dimitri, half-Sylvain/Miklan one next time.


	16. Beyond Hades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a hot minute since I posted! But the good news is that this chapter is twice as long as normal. It was just really difficult for me to write for some reason. I ended up revising it way more than I have any other chapter and am still not happy. But the story must go on.

Finally, Dimitri saw his target. 

Miklan’s appearance had changed since the last time they’d met. Now his skin was so pale that the dark smoke turned it purple and, scattered throughout his orange hair, were streaks of pure white. These changes almost made Dimitri question whether or not he had the right man, but— quickly— he decided that, yes, this person was none other than Miklan Gautier. Few other people had such cruel expressions or scars that ran across their faces like fault lines. 

At the moment, Miklan stood in front of a once-pristine bookstore. Now, the shop’s widows were webbed with cracks. Several potted plants out front were overturned, soil and lilies littered across the storefront. Miklan trampled the flowers as he stared at something between his index finger and thumb— a red stone.

 _A crest stone?_ Dimitri wondered. He’d slowed himself to a quieter gait and approached his enemy cautiously. At first, he thought that maybe he’d gotten lucky, that Miklan was entirely focused on the stone and wouldn’t notice he was being hunted. However, in the next moment, Miklan glanced up and saw Dimitri. Smirking, he tucked the stone into his collar and reached behind his back.

Dimitri hadn’t paid attention to Miklan’s weapons before. He expected to face the ebony sickle again and even saw the weapon strapped to Miklans back. But Miklan reached behind that and removed a different weapon, a lance that glowed much like the Sword of the Creator when he pointed it at Dimitri. The relic shuddered as if it were alive; the prongs near the top jittered.

It was the Lance of Ruin. 

_Wait…_ realized Dimitri, feeling his gut ball up. _It’s glowing…_

Miklan must have read Dimitri’s expression.He reached out his hand and the Crest of Gautier appeared there. And, though Dimitri had seen the glyph many times, its appearance made him want to charge Miklan, abandoning the deal he’d made with Claude and Byleth. Dimitri knew that he preached justice, that he advocated for mercy most of the time… But he could not see any reason Miklan deserved to live; the bandit had turned innocent villagers into monsters who needed to be slain like animals. And he’d stolen something precious from his own brother. Though Dimitri did not believe crests determined people’s worth, he saw them as gifts.

Taking a deep breath, Dimitri said firmly,

“Where is Sylvain?”

The crest vanished and, briefly, Miklan frowned. He did not seem angry but, instead, thoughtful and almost a bit uncomfortable. That expression of his passed quickly, however, and his eyes narrowed. 

“He’s dead. Of course.” Miklan stepped forward and a lily that had been stuck to the bottom of his boot dropped to the ground and lay dead and wrinkled on the road.

Dimitri’s throat lost all its moisture and turned to rock. A pinch in his stomach warned him of an oncoming emotion. For a moment, he could only stand still, try to breathe, and wait for that emotion to spring forth.

At last, it did. 

Hardly thinking, Dimitri surged towards Miklan and dove his lance forward. The Crest of Baiddyd appeared and hummed with magic as his arm extended. Miklan held up his relic like a crossbar, catching Dimitri’s strike and, for a moment, they were locked. Dimitri screamed, but his brain could not pick out any words that suited what he was feeling. He pressed down with all his might, his feet fracturing the stone walkway as he pushed. At last, Dimitri’s steel lance surrendered under his strength, and the pressure of his own crest, and snapped. Immediately, Miklan jumped back, flipped his relic, and jabbed for Dimitri’s vitals. 

The prince used his cuff to knock the blow aside and then he struck, winding back his fist and punching into Miklan’s sternum. The impact shoved the criminal into the ground; grunting with pain, Miklan attempted to draw his scythe, but Dimitri stomped down onto his knuckles, shattering them. 

The scythe fell out of the sling and clattered to the ground. 

_Kill him now. There’s no reason for him to live_ , Dimitri told himself. _There’s no point to any of this anymore._

Sylvain Gautier was dead… That cheerful, redheaded boy who Dimitri had met as a child was now beyond his reach… Before, Sylvain’s absence had been loud, but now it was thundering, booming so powerfully that Dimitri could not think of anything but it. The sound of this loss was horrible, impossible— a screeching baritone. Now, Miklan was more than a criminal, he was the devil who had permanently torn a fragment of Dimitri’s past away from him. 

Kneeling down, Dimitri placed a hand to Miklan’s throat and slowly began to press. Miklan’s expression turned to panic, but did not settle there. He scowled defiantly and activated the Crest of Gautier once more only to find that it did not give him enough strength to shove Dimitri off. As the prince pushed down harder into his opponent’s neck, he said,

“You killed your own brother for that crest and it still got you no closer to winning this fight. You’re still a failure. And there is no place in my kingdom for you.”

In rage, Miklan tried to swing at Dimitri but his strike was too sloppy; his face was turning red and then blue. His expression contorted as he suffocated. Dimitri considered snapping his neck then.

 _No… just a bit longer_ , he told himself. _Watch him suffer a little longer._

_Feeewm!_

A high-pitched noise behind Dimitri made him turn, but he only pivoted part of the way before a sting in his back stole his breath. With a cry, he flailed and smacked something before stumbling away from Miklan and falling onto his butt in the street. 

“Son of a bitch…”

The person he’d hit— a young woman dressed in revealing black attire— held her nose and took a step towards Miklan. Her voice had come out nasally, and blood dripped through her pale fingers. It formed twisted red lines down her hand and to her wrist. 

“Kronya...” Miklan murmured.

“The one and only…” she said in a spiteful, high tone. She glared at Dimitri. “That hurt. I’d like to finish you off, but I believe you have my knife.”

Trembling, Dimitri felt the spot on his back where pain had erupted and, sure enough, he felt the handle of a dagger. As sweat formed on his brow, he silently thanked the goddess that the knife had been so small and that he’d turned in time; the blade hadn’t seemed to hit anywhere too vital. Still, a stab wound like this was serious, even for somebody like him. It dissolved his strength more and more…

“Leave,” Kronya told Miklan, voice growing even more nasally as she went on. “You’ve done enough and you’re injured. Hee hee…” Her laugh was like the shriek of un-oiled armor. “And I want to kill this little boy.”

Miklan rose to his feet, harsh eyes swinging from Kronya to Dimitri. He gripped the Lance of Ruin tightly in his good hand. Then a purple light consumed him. 

Still holding her damaged nose, Kronya approached Dimitri; her heels clacked against the stone and speared the lily that had already been ravaged by Miklan’s boot. Dimitri tried to stand but the wound in his back, despite its small size, felt as though it were tearing him in two— the knife hurt so much more than any normal dagger should

 _Get up. You can’t be killed by scum_ , Glenn’s voice whispered in Dimitri’s skull. _If they destroy you before you even become king… then what did I die for? What did—_

“Your Highness!” 

Light footsteps pattered across the stone and, when Dimitri craned his neck, he saw Lysithea rushing towards them. Dark magic coiled around her fingers and trailed behind her. She looked as if the battle had thrown her through a wringer. Scorch marks marred her skirt and a slash through her coat revealed the white blouse beneath. Her stockings had holes in both knees and the skin beneath was horribly scraped.

She slid to a halt when she passed Dimitri and raised her arms in a protective position, letting her fists exude more magic. 

“Get away from him,” she sneered at Kronya. 

Lowering her hand, Kronya exposing a face smeared in blood. When she grinned, Dimitri saw Lysithea’s stance weaken.

“It’s you,” said Kronya. “Wow, long time no see.”

Lysithea flinched and Dimitri wondered how they knew each other. Kronya noticed Lysithea's hesitation too and laughed, saying,

“I don’t have an interest in you now, kid. I’m after the Lion’s head. Leave and you might live.”

Dimitri thought that Lysithea would fall into a rage for sure. Even though she came from a different house, he knew how touchy she was about her age. Claude often joked about her sensitivity, but Dimitri had also seen it first hand. One rainy afternoon, Sylvain had offered to carry her from class to her dorm so that her shoes would not get muddy. She’d snapped at him; Dimitri could not even recall what she’d said, only that it had been curt and callous. Whatever she’d spat had made Sylvain chase after her, insisting that he offered similar things to all women and that it had nothing to do with her being childlike at all. 

Now, however, Lysithea did not explode. Her shoulders stiffened and, in a cold tone, she said,

“I am a proud student of the officer’s academy at Garreg Mach and I am a member of Leicester's Golden Deer. You sound foolish labeling me as just a ‘kid.’”

“Do I now?” Kronya lowered her hands and balled her fists. She watched both Lysithea and Dimitri like a cat, puffing orange hair from her face. The tension among the three of them seemed to amplify the sounds of the collapsing village. Dimitri could hear distant blazes and the calls of people crying out for their family and friends. Far away, a beast wailed.

Kronya started forward and dove. Lysithea stiffened and her hands flared with magic. Instead of attacking her immediately, Kronya scooped up Miklan’s scythe which still lay on the stone. She rushed Lysithea, creating a deadly arch with one swing of the weapon. Lysithea ducked and rolled to the side before springing up and casting Miasma Δ. A black orb radiating with violet light hit Kronya straight on and disunited, throwing both Kronya backwards along with several bursts of energy. 

Dimitri watched through a blurring vision, amazed at Lysithea’s prowess. He’d only seen her fight in mock battles once or twice. She always performed impressively, but nothing like this. Now, in the face of a real threat, she looked professional— like she could join the ranks of Garreg Mach’s professors, of those like Catherine and Shamir. 

Lysithea leaped forward and landed on the flat side of the scythe, slamming it to the ground. Kronya screamed in annoyance, clinging to her shaft. Just as Lysithea began to charge up another spell, Kronya shoved the scythe back up and knocked the small mage off balance. Lysithea nearly fell backwards, only to force herself into an aerial jump and land securely on the ground. However, she did not get her bearings in time. 

Swinging the scythe once more, Kronya caught Lysithea, slicing through her clothing and across her belly. 

“Lysithea!!” Dimitri tried to rise but his own wound was nearly unbearable now. His legs refused to support even a little weight. His heart was beating so rapidly that, for a moment, he wondered if that alone might kill him. He reached futility towards the injured Deer as she collapsed. In horror, Dimitri watched as she coughed blood onto the stone. 

Kronya smiled and wiped her face with her wrist so that only a little lingering blood stained her lips a faded brown color almost like lipstick.

“Not a bad run,” she told Lysithea as she swung the scythe in a circle. The weapon whined as spun. “But I’m going to end it.”

_No…_

Dimitri tried to stand once again only to collapse again with a frustrated roar.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re next,” Kronya told him. She raised her weapon above Lysithea. 

Then… something happened that made Dimitri wonder if he were hallucinating from his injury. 

A magic chime rang out in front of Lysithea and two crests— the crests of Charon and Gloucester spinning together side by side— appeared before her and startled Kronya back. The mage slowly rose as a magic circle formed at her feet and coated her in light all the way up to her skinned knees.

“I refuse!” she spat to Kronya. “I’m not going to die! Not yet! NOT! HERE!”

She let out the scream of a banshee, casting a Hades Ω. Amethyst flames spread across the street like chthonic wildfire, seeming to cry out like Lysithea herself. Again, Dimitri heard ghosts and revenants, only, this time the nature of their voices were different. 

They bowed to Lysithea and she made her peace with them. 

With a final shove of both her arms, Lysithea forced the flames forward and her twin crests swelled. Kronya screamed and tried to slice through the hex with the scythe and, for a moment, that seemed to work. But the cursed heat pressed on and overwhelmed her before too long. Tongues of the fire lapped at her skin, devoured her hair, and then finally bit her flesh down to the bone.

With a final boom, the fire dissipated and the charred husk that had once been Kronya fell to the ground. Black voids, replacing what had been her eyes, stared blankly at Dimitri giving him chills, but also undeniable delight. However, that delight quickly faded when Lysithea toppled and fell onto her side without even trying to steady her fall. She lay on the ground lifelessly as Hades Ω’s final wisps vanished. 

_Please, Goddess, let her be alive…_ What began as an exclamation of horror turned into real prayer as Dimitri leaned forward onto his stomach and dug his nails into the gaps of the stone, trying to pull his body forward. _Goddess, if you’re real… if you’re benevolent… then please… Two people can’t die on my mission…_

Sylvain, one of Dimitri’s closest friends, and Lysithea, a talented mage who Claude and the professor both held dear… Dimitri didn’t want to end this day with two more ghosts. Just one was already like a nail lodged deep into his heart, giving him fresh pain with every beat. 

“I see them! Lysithea! Your Highness!”

_That was Hilda’s voice…_

“Felix! Ingrid! They’re over here!”

_And Ashe…_

When Dimitri heard multiple pairs of footsteps on the stone, what little strength he had keeping him lucid started to wane. He could no longer see anything now and the stinging in his back wiped out most of his coherent thoughts until the only full sentence he could form in his brain was,

_You need to save her…_

  
  


*****

  
  


Miklan didn’t know why he’d lied about Sylvain being dead. Before, at the tower, Miklan had taken pleasure in letting the prince know that Sylvain was alive; he’d wanted all the Blue Lions to realize that their precious friend was suffering and that they could do nothing about it. But now, Miklan didn’t even care about Dimitri’s reaction. He’d only wanted to get him to give up. 

The bandit had felt like this when he’d first noticed the Lions and their friends trying to organize a trade for Sylvain. At first, Miklan had planned to tell the Agarthans about it; he thought they'd deny the offer. After all, they'd said Sylvain knew too much to ever be released. Still... Miklan had, as if compelled by a minute instinct deep inside him, been careful not to let the Agarthans know about this trade. He’d slunk around town like a wraith, with a cloak concealing his bird’s nest of orange hair and its new, powdery streaks. Miklan had taken extra care to seem loyal to the Agarthans— he’d spent many hours planning his attack on the margraviate and acted like all the time he’d spent there undercover had been to gather intelligence. Thankfully, they never caught on to the Lions' plot or the valuable relic the professor had placed on the bartering table. But, even if he wished to, Miklan couldn’t explain why he’d done what he’d done. 

_I can’t go on like this. I need to think. I need to understand…_

That was an odd concept. Often, Miklan struggled with understanding others. At times, he’d _more_ than struggled. He’d failed. His father, for instance, was someone who he’d given up on ever figuring out. But Miklan had always understood himself— until now. 

_It’s just jealousy. I’m jealous that Sylvain still has friends. He still has people who love him even after all this. The prince himself wants Sylvain back, crest or no crest, and I’m still alone. I’m still lonely… even lonelier than I was before I met Philip and the others…_

But how could that be true? Miklan didn’t think he could really be jealous of a prisoner kept in such horrible conditions. He’d _won_. He had all he’d wanted from Sylvain now… So why couldn’t he throw him away?

Miklan placed his forehead against the wall, the answer dawning on him. He suddenly got it— as if one domino had collapsed into another and broke down everything that had been confusing him. 

_It's not the same… as it was back then..._

That was it. Now that he no longer felt so inferior… Miklan saw things more clearly and his view of his brother had amended. He hadn’t ever been truly alone because— as much as he’d loathed his brother— he _had_ known that Sylvain cared about him. Sylvain had tried so hard to turn Miklan into his confidant, into the type of older brother he saw that Glenn was for Felix. At the end of the day, just as Miklan wanted a crest to solve his unhappiness, Sylvain wanted a brother to solve his. They were both stuck in such dark places. 

But the issue was that Sylvain had found a way out. 

He’d given up on Miklan and focused on Dimitri, Ingrid, and Felix who’d all rewarded his efforts. Then, he’d gone to Garreg Mach and found so many people who were willing to give him their friendship as well. Sylvain had truly lost all interest in his brother. Miklan could bear when Sylvain looked at him with hatred or sadness, but when he had nothing but apathy in his stare… That was what made Miklan feel so damn lonely. 

_You’re still a failure. And there is no place in my kingdom for you._

Miklan remembered how venomously Dimitri had said those words. If Philip, Buxton, and the others had been around, Miklan would have laughed it off. Rulers could try to make their nations perfect, but there was always a place for outsiders among other outsiders, degenerates among other degenerates. But, now, without his gang or his brother, Miklan saw the truth in what Dimitri had said. 

In the end, he’d lied to the prince because he was jealous, not because Sylvain had people who loved him… but because Sylvain had moved on to all these other people. 

Touching his sternum, Miklan recalled how Dimitri had shattered his bone with one punch. Shortly after arriving back at Shambhala, Cornelia had led Miklan to her chambers and opened up a cabinet revealing rows of glowing liquids and jars of unidentifiable powdered medicines. 

_“These will fix it,” she’d said with a smirk— as if she found his injuries positively adorable. “Our elixirs are much better than what surface dwellers are using. We had to come up with something that could heal wounds from our own weapons. You know, just in case.”_ _She’d paused, tapping a long nail to her lip thoughtfully. “You know what? I’m feeling generous. You did such a wonderful job making those beasts for us, I’ll just give you an extra one in case you need it later. It’ll save you a trip at the very least.”_

Miklan reached into his pocket and pulled out the extra apothecary bottle which contained what looked like liquid stars. This stuff _did_ work wonders. Now, his chest and hand, recently broken, felt merely numb. Gripping the container tightly, Miklan headed down the hall and towards the prison block. 

Sylvain rubbed his eyes when Miklan opened the door. A bright azure light from the hall had fallen directly on him, irritating them. He shook when he raised his hands as if the simple motion were difficult for him. Miklan peered at the tray beside his brother and saw that the water was gone but the pulpy food remained undisturbed. 

“Hey, I’ve got something for you,” he said, raising the bottle. Sylvain’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, so Miklan clarified. “Don’t worry it’s just elixir.” 

Now, Sylvain’s glare went from suspicious to offended.

“That doesn’t even look remotely like elixir.” His voice reminded Miklan of chalk. It was so soft and dry; some syllables were just barely there as if the words themselves were crumbling in places. 

“It’s just a different kind from Fodlan’s. I already tried some.”

Sylvain’s annoyance diluted into sober indifference. “I’m not an idiot.”

His detached tone clawed at Miklan. The bandit wanted to prove that he wasn’t lying; he wanted the instant gratification of seeing Sylvain realize he was wrong. Briefly, Miklan even considered forcing it on him, but decided to just set it on the tray next to the cup of mystery sludge. “Whatever. If you ever decide you don’t like having broken ribs, it’s here.”

“You were the one who broke them.” 

“And you were the one who tried to run. Cause and effect.” 

The room fell silent as Miklan awaited a response. Finally, when Sylvain turned towards the wall, he realized he would not get one. He watched the back of his brother’s head, counting at least four patches of white hair. This number made him comb his hand through the hair at his own temple. He’d realized, after finally seeing his reflection in a shop window during the attack, that he had the same ivory streaks. He found it a bit odd that Sylvain hadn’t mentioned them, hadn’t cared to even mock him for it. More and more, Miklan realized, Sylvain was slipping into an apathetic outlook towards him. 

“Your friends aren’t coming for you,” Miklan said, pleased to hear how matter-of-fact his tone was. 

“They are. They’re—”

“No. They aren’t.” 

Finally, Sylvain turned back to glance at Miklan. His expression was indecipherable. 

“I told the prince that you didn’t survive,” Miklan went on. “They aren’t looking because they don’t think they’ll find anything.”

“He didn’t believe you.” Sylvain’s tone was that of a politician, a person who argued so adamantly for something he wasn’t so sure he believed in himself. “He… he knows you’re a liar.”

“He seemed far too distraught to think I was lying.”

Sylvain hung his head, and slid a little down the wall that he was propped up against. A grimace briefly quirked his face and he gently clutched his ribs. 

“Leave me alone.”

“Just take the—”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Sylvain shouted so suddenly and forcefully that it made Miklan twitch. He watched his brother gasp in pain and bite his lip until it turned white. Drawing in several deep breaths, Sylvain turned back to the wall and tried to calm the aching by loosening up. His shoulders dipped and, slowly, he let his arm fall away from his torso and brush the black ground. 

Miklan decided to leave things at that. This conversation would not go anywhere else for the time being. Turning away from his younger brother, he opened door and stepped out into the hallway, latching the prison tightly behind him. He didn’t know where else to go— he just needed another walk, a way to loosen his tension and thin out the sour thoughts building up in his skull. But, before he could get far, he saw Cornelia across the corridor. She spotted him and her mouth upturned somberly.

“There you are,” she said. “We must have a meeting. About…” Her brows knit for a moment. Then she clicked her tongue. Her eyes lanced through him. 

“Kronya is dead.”


	17. Beyond Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again.  
> I don't really have any announcements besides another shameless plug to follow me on my new twitter @dawnedonme33 (or don't. I can't make you do anything lol).
> 
> This chapter was fun. It kinda stressed me out for Sylvain while writing it.

_Your friends aren’t coming for you…_

Miklan had seared that phrase into Sylvain’s brain. That one sentence prevented him from sleeping— the one activity that provided him any kind of comfort in this prison. Sylvain estimated that he slept around half the day, though it was hard to tell. He wished he could keep his body tempered. If he weren’t in such bad condition, he’d be doing push-ups, crunches, squats, planks, and lunges. He’d be doing enough of them to make Ingrid or Felix say something tongue-in-cheek. 

Goddess, he missed them. 

Sylvain swallowed and squinted upwards, trying to combat the tears he felt coming on. He didn’t mind crying periodically, if he was alone. But crying in front of others was the worst, and Sylvain’s gut knotted when he considered that Miklan might walk in on him doing it. Damn it. If only he could just fall asleep. 

He’d tried so hard to doze off but, when he closed his eyes, he could only think about his friends. If they truly believed Miklan’s lie then… they’d mourn him and the hope of rescue would slip from his grasp like soap. Sylvain decided that perhaps his insomnia was a good thing; he’d surely have nightmares of his own funeral if he drifted off now. 

_I can’t do this._ Sylvain grit his teeth. _I can’t just expect them to do everything._

Maybe they had called off the search and maybe they hadn’t. But that didn’t change that Sylvain should be trying to reach them too. His situation gave him no excuse to wait around helplessly while his friends grieved. He’d given himself enough time to sit here in the dark, depressed. 

Trying to rise, Sylvain placed a hand flat against the wall. He managed to stand upright though he almost keeled over from a dizzy spell. Upon testing his faculties, he found that he could walk, but he was sluggish. 

_You can’t sneak away like this._

Sylvain almost ignored that little logical whisper in his head and continued towards the door. But something occurred to him… and he stopped. 

The bottle of shimmery liquid that Miklan had insisted was elixir still sat on the tray beside him. Initially, Sylvain had been certain it was poison or some new experiment. But now he wondered… Why would Miklan have given him something like poison in this way? If he wanted Sylvain dead, he could have just stabbed him. If the fluid was part of some experiment, why would he have gone about having Sylvain drink it in such an indirect manner? Miklan could have forced him to take it if it were that important.

_What if it really is elixir…_

Was that possibility worth the risk? Sylvain balanced the outcomes in his head. If the bottle was full of poison, he could die… But he could very well die if he stayed in his cell too. He’d realized that Miklan and his associates had decided against killing him for the time being, but that could change on a whim. Sylvain could certainly die of other complications as well. Currently, he was still weak from having his crest ripped out of him and he’d barely been eating. Still, he didn’t want to perish from such an _obvious_ trick. He could just imagine how Miklan would wheeze with laughter over his corpse if that happened. 

Taking the bottle, Sylvain tipped the liquid from one end to the other. The color and shine of the brew were certainly gorgeous, but Sylvain knew that beautiful things, like belladonna, were sometimes the most toxic.

 _But you won’t win if you don’t risk something_ , he told himself.

His captors thought they’d broken him. They’d even stopped chaining him up as they had when he’d first arrived here. These people saw him as a weak, crestless child. And Sylvain wanted to prove them wrong.

He swung back his head and gulped the drink down. 

Right away, he felt his body warm up. At first he worried that a sudden fever was coming on, but this warmth felt far too pleasant to be a fever. Slowly, his ribs lost their tenderness until he could move without pain. Although he still felt tired from his brush with death in the laboratory and weak in the absence of his crest, he’d returned mostly to normal. 

_He was telling the truth._

Sylvain frowned, watching a stray droplet of the glimmering elixir slide down the inside of the bottle. Did Miklan want something from him? Or had he pitied him? That second option didn’t seem likely from what Sylvain knew of his brother. But the fact that Miklan had given him elixir in the first place had felt just as unlikely. 

_He’s up to something. But I’m not sticking around to ask about it._

Reaching the door, Sylvain tried the handle and— as expected— found that the door was latched on the other side. Interestingly, Sylvain could see the bolt through a small space in the door. The size of this space enticed Sylvain; it almost looked big enough for him to slide his finger through. Obviously, he could not but… that amount of room. 

Surely, he could use something in this cell as a tool. Sylvain searched and grumbled that his jailers had not given him a spoon for the mush. Perhaps they understood the gap in the door and deliberately withheld utensils. Or, maybe, this was all a twisted joke.

 _I’m in the tenth circle of hell: the-almost-but-not-quite-escapable room_ , thought Sylvain dryly. 

Next, he checked the walls and floor for loose fragments of black stone. He even considered using the tops of his boots and seeing if he could somehow jam them through the opening and wiggle the latch free. Then, as he considered this, a better idea hit him. 

He reached for a large gold button on his uniform jacket’s shoulder pad. After a few tugs, the thread tore and he held the button in his palm. It was wide and solid, heavier than most buttons. Sylvain wasn’t quite sure that it would be enough, but it felt like it might work. Inserting the button into the gap, Sylvain prodded upwards at the latch. He struggled a little and, once or twice, the button almost slipped from his fingers. He cussed softly, adjusted his grip, and messed with the bolt more. Still, this latch was made out of something denser than anything Sylvain had ever felt. This black rock seemed almost stuck to the door and wouldn't move no matter how much he pressed the button upwards.

When his arm began to ache, Sylvain lowered the button and tried to think. He had no other tool or weapon. He didn't even have the fortification of his crest, so how...

_Wait, no, don’t be dumb, Sylvain._

Opening his palm, he produced a flicker of fire. His time in this place must have really been doing a number on his mind if he almost entirely forgot of his rank in reason. He doubted he’d be able to cast the same amount of magic as he could when he was healthier, but this was something at least. Sylvain promised himself to get Professor Hanneman and Professor Byleth some gifts once he made it home; he probably wouldn’t have discovered his talent for black magic if not for them. 

Maintaining the fire, he brought the heat over to the gap with his hand. After a moment, he tried again to lift it with the button, hoping that he’d be able to break the latch. He pushed with the button and the latch popped up easily, without even denting. With a slight push, the door opened and Sylvain tucked the button into his pocket with a smile. If he got home, it would be his new lucky charm.

Ghosting down the hall, Sylvain took note of his surroundings. As of now, he didn’t even have an inkling of where the exit could be. When he’d first arrived at Garreg Mach, he’d thought that navigating his way around the campus had been difficult. But Garreg Mach was as complicated as a carriage house in comparison to this place. 

Sylvain’s heart began to gallop when he started noticing the same hallways. He had no breadcrumbs to leave, but he made sure to notice things— missing tiles, certain doors, and magic circles chiseled into walls. He’d cataloged enough landmarks to know that he’d seen some of these hallways several times. 

_Shouldn’t there be stairs somewhere?_

Voices from down the hall startled Sylvain. He darted for the nearest door and it slid open at his touch. Stumbling into a new hallway, he listened for the sound of the voices to pass in front of his hiding spot.

Once the people had left, Sylvain considered going back into the hall. Then, he decided that there would be no harm inspecting this new area. Maybe he’d even find a staircase. So, he walked forward, clinging to the wall and to the shadows once again.

Finally, he spotted an odd looking door— one with a panel and colorful buttons beside it. Something drew him to that door… Perhaps a brief memory of something Claude had said long ago…

_“You know, I’ve read some interesting things about the Holy Tomb,” Claude told Syvlain, guiding Marianne’s horse, Dorte, back to the stables._

_The Deer and Lions had just had jousting practice that afternoon. Sylvain was paired with Marianne and, when he’d charged towards her, she’d panicked and swung sideways, plunging from her mount. Raphael and some of the other students had rushed her to Manuela’s office while Claude went to help Byleth clean up. Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to leave and offered to help. As he followed Claude to the stables, the house leader assured him that Marianne was actually quite a talented rider— but that she had clumsy spells at the strangest moments and that it was really nobody’s fault. From there, the conversation had gone to horses then to medical knowledge and finally the rare books in Garreg Mach’s library._

_“Like what?” Sylvain threw a saddle onto its rack and dusted off his hands._

_“So, it’s somewhere underground.” Claude’s eyes lit up as he spoke which, Sylvain had noticed, was quite rare considering how much he smiled. Generally, Claude’s eyes only sparkled around particular people or when he spoke of certain subjects. “But I’ve heard you don’t get there with stairs. There’s a lift that goes up and down a shaft. It’ll get you far beneath the monastery in the blink of an eye.”_

_Claude sighed, encouraging Dorte into his stable. “I’d love to figure out more, but Seteth can always sniff me out when I find ‘contraband.’” He winked and tapped his temple with two fingers. “Thankfully, I’ve got most of what I’ve read stored safely up here. Just don’t expect me to tell you everything.”_

_Sylvain laughed. “That’s fine. I’m sure I’ll never be tested on secret lift thingymajigs.”_

Maybe he’d never get tested on such knowledge… But Sylvain thought that maybe that information had finally come in handy. 

He peered at the buttons and saw that they had arrows painted right above them in glowing paint: one left, one right, and one up.

_Well, ‘up’ is my best bet…_

Sylvain almost tapped it when he heard a voice coming from one of the rooms at the end of the hall.

“Hello, Solon,” said Thales. “How are things with the beasts?”

“It’s all running smoothly. We were able to capture quite a few of them. Miklan did well.”

Sylvain frowned. Again, Solon’s voice sounded familiar. Why couldn’t he place it?

“Hmph. Glad you think so,” came Miklan’s voice, causing Sylvain to tense and strain to hear more. “Cornelia told me about Kronya. How’d it happen? It looked like she’d be able to kill the prince easily when I left. He had a knife in his back! I don’t care how strong he is— he’s still human! How the hell did she lose?”

“It didn’t look like the prince was the one who killed her,” said Thales. “She was little more than a husk when my subordinates spotted her. She was killed by magic… and only one of those students was capable of that kind of output… But we’ll discuss that later. We must move on with our plans”

“Are you going to reveal those to me yet?” asked Miklan; his town lowered. “I’ve done everything you wanted. I let you use me for your experiment, I handed over my brother, and I razed the margraviate to get you those monsters. Stop holding out.”

_Razed the margraviate…_

Sylvain swallowed, telling himself not to make a sound. What had Miklan done to their home? How had he gotten monsters from the town? And… who was this capable student the Agarthans were speaking of? Sylvain hoped that he or she had saved Dimitri… the thought of his friend taking a knife to the back made Sylvain shudder. 

“I think he’s right,” cooed Cornelia. “Let’s explain.”

The room went quiet for a minute. Such a thick silence made Sylvain feel uncomfortable; his heart sounded all too loud. 

“I’ll tell you… some things,” Thales decided at last. “After all, you still have not been entirely truthful with us.”

“How do you figure?” demanded Miklan.

Thales chuckled humorlessly. His laugh sounded like a warning.

“I have a report that the prince and his professor were willing to trade the Sword of the Creator for your brother. Surely you, who have spent so much time in the Gautier Margraviate, knew about that?”

 _They were going to offer Professor Byleth’s relic… for me?_ This thought flattered Sylvain just as much as it ashamed him. He did not wish to be the reason that Byleth lost her most important treasure; he’d never be able to live that down. Though he would know in his head that Byleth cared about him more than the holy blade… his heart would make him feel too guilty to look at her again. 

“Honestly,” said Miklan at last, “I did not believe it was worth bringing up. Cornelia already pointed out that letting Sylvain go isn’t an option. And the fact that now there are even more spoiled brats from the academy crawling around made me think it was a trap anyway.”

Sylvain heard Cornelia’s heel click against the ground. 

“He’s got a point, Thales,” she said. “We’re doing so well as it is. No use risking it all on a new toy.”

“I suppose.” Thales still sounded critical. “Fine. Then I’ll let you into what all your efforts are building up to. It’s an attack. On Garreg Mach Monastery.”

Wiping his sweaty palms on his pant legs, Sylvain took a silent step forward. Escape could wait for just a couple more minutes. When he did return to his friends, it would be with more information than they could have ever hoped for. Maybe that would make getting captured— and maybe even losing his crest— worth it. 

Holding a hand up to his face, Sylvain tried to summon that familiar sign once more but his palm didn’t so much as glow. He knew how much damage his crest had done; it was the root of everything wrong in his life and yet… Now that it was gone, Sylvain felt a difficult-to-describe emptiness. Logically, he should feel liberated, but instead he felt exposed because losing his crest— this magical cure-all he’d dreamt of— hadn’t done anything to turn his life around. His brother was as wicked as ever and… their father was dead. They’d never all be the family Sylvain wanted. 

But at least Sylvain had friends. He wouldn’t let anyone ruin that. 

“Even with those monsters, you won’t be able to take Garreg Mach,” said Miklan. 

“We’re aware. There is much more we’ve done to prepare. We have a spy among the students who’s been pulling strings for many moons. She’s enfeebling the monastery from the inside out. We have the information on all their weak points, we have an army, and now we have those beasts. Finally, we have a use for any noble prisoners we obtain.”

“Taking their crests,” muttered Miklan, “and giving them to those who join you.”

“Yes. By the end of the year,” said Solon, “Fodlan’s order will be completely destroyed. The archbishop will have no supporters left and Garreg Mach will be in ruins.”

Having heard enough, Sylvain backed towards the buttons on the wall. 

_Cornelia, a spy at Garreg Mach, beasts, Solon’s familiar voice, and the crest experiments._

Sylvain had more than enough facts to reveal to Dimitri. Miklan and Cornelia were right; his escape would completely and instantly cripple them. Now, Sylvain wanted his freedom more than ever. He wanted these people to know that _he’d_ been the one to ruin them. He waited until they began talking again, filling the silence. Then, padding to the lift, he tapped the button as softly as he could. 

_BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ._

A long metallic whine sounded off from the lift as the buttons flashed blue.

Sylvain’s eyes widened to the point of aching and he stood, too horrified to commit to any particular action. Over the sound of the alarm, he heard Thales shout,

“Damn it. Who is using that elevator? They all have work to do!”

“I’ll take a peek,” said Cornelia. 

The doors began to part and Sylvain made the definitive decision to risk everything on this direction. It would be tight, but he didn’t want to play cat and mouse throughout an unfamiliar labyrinth. 

Cornelia screeched.

“It’s that brat!”

Instinctively, Sylvain ducked and a curse plowed into one of the elevator doors, bouncing and dissipating. He whirled and struck Cornelia with a whip of flame. She yelped and unleashed a volley of expletives at him as her sleeve caught fire. 

Sylvain turned back towards the doors and began to push them apart with his own hands. He could see a lever just on the other side. All he needed to do was just squeeze through. 

_Faster_ , he prayed. _Open. Open!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't clear, the latch on the door was a magnet. Sylvain heating it made it demagnetize. 
> 
> Also the elevator at the end is basically a freight elevator which is why it buzzes like that. I just didn't want to describe the third door inside coming down.


	18. Beyond the Outside World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter! Sorry about the awkward length. Does anyone else type something in google docs then leave the tab for a moment and the whole line is just gone? That's happened to me a bunch lately...

Sylvain turned sideways and slid through the parting doors. His heart was hammering out of control now and he— for one horrifying moment— wondered if _that_ would be the death of him. The feeling in his chest wasn’t quite pain; but it was a hysteria that made it difficult to think or even breathe. 

Cornelia shouted at him unintelligibly and launched another curse. Sylvain summoned a wall of fire between him and the door while reaching for the lever behind him. He threw it down hard and the doors, to his relief, began to pull shut. 

Fatigued, Sylvain willed the fire to extinguish briefly. His ears were ringing from how much magic he’d expended. Normally, he could cast several rounds of flame without even yawning. But, now, he felt as though his body had revolted against him and was trying to force him into a coma. Sylvain hoped that, with some proper care, food, water, and rest, he’d return to normal. But he wasn’t sure… perhaps he’d never quite return to the way he was before losing his crest. If that were so, Sylvain knew he could take it in stride. As long as he could be free and see his friends again, he didn’t need a crest. 

“SYLVAIN!”

Miklan’s voice blasted down the hall, amplified by the acoustics of the corridor. Sylvain flinched when he caught sight of his brother’s furious face seconds before the lift closed. He jumped back when the doors dented under a sudden attack. When he heard the boom and saw the mental warp, Sylvain couldn’t stop himself from gasping. But still, the lift moved upwards, uninhibited by Miklan’s damage.

_Calm down… You can do this. They’ll probably be waiting for you wherever this lets off. You just need to strike first.. Push through. No matter what._

Gulping in air, Sylvain prepared himself to summon more magic. This spell would have to be even bigger, beyond his limit. Briefly, he remembered a training session with Raphael and Caspar. Both of them had the tendency to scream before their strikes and, though Sylvain had found this strategy counter-intuitive at first, he quickly realized that it was making him see their attacks as even bigger than they actually were.

_“That’s the idea!” Caspar had said. “Guys like us aren’t cut out for stealth. You just gotta scream— barrel into the bad guy as a whole explosion of sound, strength, and fury!”_

So, when the door’s finally opened, Sylvain didn’t even think. He rushed forward, screaming as loud as his lungs would allow. He cast Ragnarok and— as a literal explosion of sound and flame— he plowed forward. Someone had been standing before him and he slammed into whoever it was and then shot past them, trying to increase the eruption around him. An open archway directly before him revealed the outdoors. 

Sylvain burst into the open air right as his flames simmered down. The smell and coolness of the wind thrilled him and charged him back up; he’d received just a taste of his reward and never wanted to let it go. The Lion dashed down a slope, only briefly wondering where in Fodlan he was. All he could tell was that he was on some kind of mountain. The ground was dirt and stone, and patches of snow dappled the hills here and there but, on a whole, it was much too warm to be Faerghus.

Glancing at this unfamiliar terrain, he tried not to lose hope. Wherever he was, it was closer to home than that suffocating dungeon underground. He could do this and he could do it by himself; Sylvain had faith that, this time, he’d pull himself from the darkness.

Somewhere behind him, he heard Thales’ frantic voice then Miklan shout something in return. But, with the air rushing past Sylvain’s ears, he didn’t catch a word of the exchange. He pumped his legs faster and tried to let the slope carry him downwards. He turned a bend and, with a start, saw a significantly steeper slope. The sheer dip of the ridge made his stomach turn, but not as much as the noise of pursuit behind him did. Cursing, Sylvain continued on.

He ran down the drop and found himself going faster and faster. He strained to stay upright all while his legs rushed, spurred on by gravity. Finally, he lost his balance and fell sideways, tumbling down the hill with little more control of his muscles than a corpse would have. When he came to a stop, he coughed up dust and tried to reorient himself. He wobbled to his feet, rubbing dirt from his lashes. His body hurt everywhere and he knew that he’d have bruises all over within minutes. 

“Sylvain!”

Miklan shouted as he slid down the hill. Thales was no longer with him nor were Cornelia or Solon. He was alone, but armed— the Lance of Ruin glowed in his hand. Sylvain turned to begin running again, but somehow, likely with the magic of the Crest of Gautier, Miklan cleared the gap between them and knocked Sylvain back to the ground with the flat end of his lance. 

Exhausted, battered, and unable to summon even a lick of flame, Sylvain spat up more dirt and rolled onto his stomach, using his palms to try and push himself back to his feet. 

“Stop.” Miklan shoved Sylvain’s shoulder with his boot and forced him onto his back. 

Sylvain, full of hatred and suffering under the weight of his growing humiliation, stared up at Miklan. He could not read his brother’s look. It was stony, an expression fitting of someone who could torture his family and decimate own his village with no qualms. 

“Stop it,” said Miklan again, his cadence too vague to give away any emotion. “Let me take you back.” 

“Get the hell away from me.” Sylvain rubbed hair away from his face with the back of his hand and felt blood smear across his knuckles. He must have cut his forehead during his fall. As soon as he realized this, he felt the sting. With his remaining energy, he pulled himself to his feet. 

Then, Miklan struck. 

He hit Sylvain with the lance again, knocking him back down. Sylvain felt Miklan’s boot on the side of his leg, right on the outside of his knee. He realized what was happening only a moment before it did.

Miklan struck and Sylvain’s joint burst. 

The pain was unreal— so horrible that Sylvain felt as though his whole leg were surely unsalvageable, broken beyond the capabilities of even white magic. He wailed up at the clouds. The fresh air and freedom of the outdoors could no longer motivate him and the agony drowned out everything around him.

_I tried… my hardest and still…_

And— just like with his last attempt at escape— the stress, the pain, and the panic forced Sylvain into unconsciousness. 

  
  


*****

Sylvain's eyes rolled back and then shut. 

Miklan watched him for just a moment. Here, in the sunlight, he saw just how bad his brother’s condition was. Sylvain’s skin was pale and just tinted with green everywhere except beneath his eyes which were ringed with purple. He’d lost so much weight, and his hair— orange and white patches alike— was dull. Blood dripped down the side of his face.

_How did he even make it this far…_

Of course Sylvain had taken the elixir. That much was clear, and Miklan regretted his decision to offer the medicine. But he couldn’t help but be amazed at how powerful his brother was when pushed to the edge, even without a crest. This version of Sylvain was so unlike the naive kid Miklan had grown up with. Now, he struck back. 

Though he’d asked them to wait, Thales and the others approached, apparently considering the impressiveness of Sylvain’s escape as well. 

“That one is definitely from the Officer’s Academy,” remarked Thales. 

“What an… irksome… place.” Cornelia bit her nail, eyeing the scorch mark on her sleeve. “We were right to chip away at it from the inside.”

“Indeed.” Thales smirked briefly at Solon before raising an eyebrow at Miklan. “Just kill him.”

For a moment, Miklan didn’t register what Thales was commanding. Then he watched the man’s inhuman eyes fall to Sylvain. Thales glared him as if he were a blot on an otherwise polished mirror, and he’d simply asked Miklan to clean it up.

“Just…” Miklan stopped, unsure of what he was saying. 

“He’s a liability,” said Cornelia. Though she oftentimes seemed the most sympathetic towards him, Miklan had really begun to detest the obvious way she counterfeited her sweet tone. “We’d decided to let things go since he’d seemed to have given up. But that was obviously not the case. He’s our undoing at worst and dead weight at best.”

“I don’t want to.” That was the truth but Miklan hated how it sounded. 

“Fine,” Solon said, stepping forward. “Then I can—”

Miklan’s hand shot out sharply like a sudden guardrail. Solon jerked back, clutching his staff to his chest and focusing his mismatched eyes on Miklan.

“I do not intend to ever betray any of you,” the bandit said. “And why would I? I have nothing to return to but people who will hang me. I bear a crest and I’ve proven that I can fight and kill. And this is the only thing I’ll ever ask for.”

They considered this. Finally Cornelia smirked.

“Can I ask why? You didn’t care if he died before. What is this Miklan? Guilt? Love? Or do you get satisfaction out of it?” She giggled. “Maybe you’re afraid you’ll get bored.”

Her questions were valid. Miklan himself still struggled with some of the answers. But he did not think he felt guilty, and he couldn’t say he loved his brother. That claim felt too audacious and contradictory even to Miklan. Oddly enough, Cornelia’s last guess wasn’t too far off the mark though. Miklan had gone his whole life with Sylvain being such a focal part of it. His hatred of his brother kept had him from being bored. Just like how Sylvain’s pestering had kept him from being lonely. 

“Maybe...” muttered Miklan, not wishing to say more than that. 

Thales crossed his arms. He didn’t appear as angry as Miklan thought he might; instead, he seemed to calculate. 

“Take him inside for now,” he said at last. “But I haven’t come to a decision. I will let you know by the end of the week.”

Miklan wanted to argue. He thought they’d all passed this discussion. Upon glaring down at his brother, he felt anger boil up beneath his skin.

 _If only you’d just been quiet…_ he thought bitterly. _You’re a nuisance!_

In a moment of irritation, Miklan almost demanded that Thales just get it over with. The Agarthans were right. Sylvain was a liability, less of a brother and more of a curse. But, taking another breath, Miklan said,

“Very well.”

He bent and slid his arms beneath Sylvain’s back and legs. His body was remarkably light.

_Maybe he’ll die before the end of this week anyway…_

Miklan bit the inside of his cheek as they headed back towards Shambhala together. 

As they walked, Miklan’s ears picked up something that… was out of place. He hadn’t known the Agarthans for too long, but he’d memorized the pattern of their footsteps weeks ago. It was an old habit— no— an intrinsic skill that activated whether he intended for it to or not. Turning, Miklan scanned around for a person who should not be there, but saw nobody and heard nothing. 

_An animal maybe?_

He wanted to tell the others. After all, he’d second-guessed himself back when he’d first met Kronya. That should have been a lesson. Still… a defiant side of him held back. He hadn’t lied about not wanting to betray the Agarthans. But they did _not_ own him and every time he could prove that to himself, he would. 

So, they continued on towards their base and Miklan did not say a word.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	19. Beyond Breaking Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Felix Says Bad Words.

Dimitri felt disoriented as he awoke. His body was stiff and his back alternated between numb and tender. He grunted softly and flexed his neck; a strand of hair fell into his mouth and he spat it out with a soft “pff.” 

The sunny room came into focus, and it's white and blue walls told him he was in bed at the Gautier Estate. That made sense… the margraviate probably had enough issues housing people after Miklan’s attack. 

“Your Highness?”

The voice sounded familiar, but it took him a moment to identify it.

“Ingrid?”

He blinked the lingering fog from his gaze and turned to see her, sea foam eyes glistening with emotion.

“Dimitri!” She spoke with a breathless half-laugh, cupping the side of his face. Then her nose turned pink and the color spread all the way to her ears. She withdrew her hand quickly. “Oh. Pardon me.”

“No… I don’t mind... I’m happy you care.” 

That was an understatement. He’d had his fair share of falls, scrapes, and bruises as a kid and, back then, Ingrid had always been so sisterly about them. She’d chase after him, Sylvain, and Felix saying, “Strength is not synonymous with stupidity”— a phrase she must have picked up from an adult in her life. She explored right alongside them, but always reeled them in, away from danger and poor decisions. Dimitri missed _that_ Ingrid in the same way he missed the milder version of Felix and the sweeter Sylvain from their pasts. Nowadays, Ingrid was so formal. She viewed him as a superior, as a prince, and addressed him so professionally. Half the time, he wondered if his friends found him unrelatable and if they had subtly removed him from their circle. That thought hurt.

Seeing Ingrid’s eyes so sisterly again and hearing her say his name brought Dimitri peace. But… upon remembering their childhood, he recalled what Miklan had said about Sylvain… being gone... Dimitri’s throat ached as he opened his mouth to tell her about their friend, but she didn’t notice and continued speaking herself. 

“Dedue will be so upset!” she said. “He’s been in here almost every second for the past two days! Finally, the professor forced him to leave. She told him that, if he started making himself sick, it would only take resources away from you and Lysithea. That really got to him. He just went to take a walk.”

That was a lot to unpack, but Dimitri did the best to clear his mind and take things one step at a time. 

“I’ve been out for a full two days? And Lysithea! Is she alright? Where is she?”

Ingrid frowned, her posture drooping. 

“She’s still in a coma from what I know. Marianne placed you under a sleep charm so you’d get more rest and so you wouldn’t be in pain, but Lysithea… we had many healers just trying to keep her alive. Her wound isn’t as deep as it looked, but her body was in such a horrible condition. It was as though she… she just had no life left. I’ve heard that people can hurt themselves by casting too much magic, but nobody has ever seen anything like this.” Ingrid glanced at him warily. “Did you see what happened?”

Dimitri felt his forehead crease as he tried to remember. At last, he saw it in his head— the image of Lysithea in an ocean of flame, her white hair haloing around her head, while the crests of Gloucester and Charon spun before her— then Miklan’s accomplice succumbing to the raging violet flames of Hades. 

“I did,” Dimitri admitted. “But I wish to talk to her before I reveal anything.” 

“Understood.” Ingrid bobbed her head before looking at him with imploring eyes. “Your Highness, allow me to leave for just a moment! I want to tell the others you’re up and speaking! I’m sure it will ease the weight on their shoulders.”

“Yes. Of course. Please bring them here.”

She nodded and bounded from the room, her boots thumping against the hardwood. When the door shut behind her, Dimitri propped himself up against his headboard and lowered his comforter. The cool air hit him uncomfortably and almost compelled him to curl back up under all the sheets, but he’d never been one for lazing about— even while injured. He drove Dedue crazy in that sense.

Dimitri stared down at his chest and found that he was topless, but several layers of gauze wrapped around his waist and up to his sternum, looping tightly around his shoulder. With a careful hand, he reached around and touched his wound. He winced as he felt a sting. Nobody had tended to the wound with magic; it still felt fresh… though could sense the vague bumps of stitches beneath the bandages. 

He pressed his hand with his forehead and tried to think. Lysithea was alive… but… 

Sylvain. 

The prince clenched a handful of his sheets with a trembling fist. He wanted to say it was a lie. Miklan Gautier was a scoundrel; he was pure evil. Dimitri imagined that lying came more easily to Miklan than breathing did. But… the prince couldn’t ignore what he’d seen the bandit do. He’d produced the Crest of Gautier and he had wielded the Lance of Ruin. That could not have been a trick of smoke and mirrors. He had definitely done something to Sylvain, something that could very well have resulted in death. And he had sounded so firm too… If Miklan had been lying, Dimitri assumed it would have been to hurt the Lions, to make them mourn. But Miklan hadn’t delivered the news joyfully. He’d stared Dimitri down with cold contempt. What was Dimitri supposed to make of that?

The door swung back open and Dedue burst through first.

“Your Highness!” 

The Duscur’s voice reached a rare level of emotion and his eyes were larger than Dimitri had ever seen them before. His white eyebrows sloped upwards. He dashed to Dimitri’s bedside, mouth open just barely as he clasped the prince’s hand. Then, he seemed to realize what his distress had just compelled him to do, and he released Dimitri’s hand shamefully. 

“It’s okay,” Dimitri said. He looked at the two bumps in the sheets where his knees were, feeling shameful himself. “It’s my fault. I told you I’d be fine and then… this happened.”

“It’s not your fault.” said Dedue instantly. He grit his teeth. “It is only the fault of those who attacked the margraviate. They were demons.”

As he said this, the other Lions flooded into the room much more tentatively. Their expressions melted with relief when they saw Dimitri alert and speaking. Even Felix eased up.

“Hmph,” he said, holding a hand to his hip. “I knew you’d wake up soon. Boars don’t die so easily.”

“Felix… can’t you be kind just this once?” muttered Ingrid. 

“Yes, no fighting,” agreed Mercedes as she pulled at the end of her ponytail, “and don’t move too much, Dimitri. I’m worried about those stitches. It’s been so long since I’ve had to sew up a person…”

“What are you talking about, Mercie?” said Annette. “You were amazing! You were so quick and focused and it looked perfect!” She smiled warmly to Dimitri. "Ashe and Hilda found you and then Mercie saved your life!"

Dedue nodded towards Mercedes and his face softened. “Yes. You did well.”

Dimitri could imagine that. Mercedes von Martritz usually carried herself in such a femininely casual way, not too serious always but attentive when it counted. She was the type to arrive for class fifteen minutes late after rushing from the wrong building and just laugh it all off, calling herself silly. But when it came to the health and care of the Lions, her focus had a motherly strength. 

“Thank you, Mercedes,” he said. “Thank you, Ashe. I am grateful.” 

He wanted to keep things at that, but the events of the last battle still swam in his mind. The flames and ghosts pursued him even here and he felt that… that he had no right to be so safe and content. He did not deserve his classmates’ concern and help after all that transpired. 

Wincing, he said. “I’m sorry. I truly made a mess of things and my blunders affected you all. It was my fault that Professor Byleth was wounded, and yet she and Claude still helped me so that I could go after Miklan. And even then I could not manage to kill him. He—”

“You fought Miklan? You saw him?” said Ingrid, eyes widening. Then she glanced around sheepishly. “I apologize, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, we need to talk about this!” Felix approached the bedside angrily; Dedue tensed and glared, warning him with just his eyes to stay away from Dimitri, but Felix ignored him. “You tried to kill Miklan?! What were you thinking!? How could you find him and then—”

“Felix, I—”

“Stop! The plan was to capture him! Don’t you give a shit about Sylvain?!” Felix's eyes narrowed. “Or do you care more about revenge than you care about your own house?”

“Please listen. I would not have tried to kill him if—”

“Nothing you could ever say will—”

“SYLVAIN IS DEAD, FELIX!” 

As soon as the words hit the air, Dimitri cursed himself. He’d never meant to reveal the news so abruptly and inappropriately… so cruelly. But Felix’s rising emotions had stirred him up and torn the words from him almost physically. Now, the other Lions watched in shock as the vibrations from Dimitri’s shout faded from the walls and turned to silence. 

“Miklan told me before we fought,” said Dimitri, gently now. “At that point, I saw no reason why he should live.” 

The prince hung his head and listened to the silence, fearing what kind of expressions he’d see if he looked up. 

“No.” Felix’s voice was dangerously even; his tone thinly coated his anger. “No. Of course you didn’t see that. All you ever see is red.” And, at last, Felix exploded.

“Miklan Gautier is a _fucking liar_!!” he roared. “You know he is! We all know he is!”

“I did not just take his claim at face value,” said Dimitri, hating the misery clinging to his sentence. “He had the Crest of Gautier. And he could use the Lance of Ruin. I saw him do it. Those guesses we had about transferring crests… I think we were right. That crest Miklan possessed… It was Sylvain’s…”

At last, Dimitri brought his chin up and looked at his friends. They all looked ill, especially Ingrid whose skin had turned so white that it frightened Dimitri. She placed a palm to her lips and clutched her stomach. Shakily, she backed up to one of the potted plants in the corner and bent beside it as if unsure whether or not she would throw up.

Felix’s lips parted to argue more, but nothing came out at first. Then he spun suddenly and slammed his foot into the chair Ingrid had been using when Dimitri had first woken up.The chair flew past Ashe and hit the wall, the back splintering before it slammed to the floor. 

“Fuck!” As he spoke, his anger did not quite dissipate— it was still there— but it was mixed with something else… To Dimitri, he sounded… lost.

A soft little gasp of air from Annette drew Dimitri’s attention towards the others. Annette had begun to cry, though it was clear she was trying to suppress it. Mercedes took her hand, but her own eyes were beginning to glimmer. Ashe avoided everyone; he stared at his shoes and blinked hard. 

“We’re failures,” Felix said to Dimitri. “You, Ingrid, and me. _Failures_. We knew this was going on practically our whole fucking lives— everything with Miklan and Sylvain.” His voice steadily began to rise. “We _knew_. Things were always happening to him and we never did anything because he always gave some stupid reason for it or he begged us not to tell! What the hell were we doing?! Were we waiting for things to finally go too far?!”

“What could we have done?!” Ingrid shouted, though she sounded horrified that he might be right. She threw her arms out. “We were children! We were relying on adults who didn’t see half of what we saw! I— I thought…” She shook her head and let her shoulder fall against the wall, defeated. “It doesn't matter what I thought. What are we supposed to do about it now…”

“I don’t care what _you_ do,” said Felix. “I’m going to continue looking even if there’s only a corpse to find.”

That statement only served to make Ingrid more nauseous. She grabbed the side of the pot and gagged. Mercedes went to her and touched her back gently. At that moment, the door creaked and opened so slowly that Dimitri wanted to snap at whoever wished to enter. But he bit his tongue and waited. 

Finally, Marianne von Edmund peered into the room. 

“I-I’m sorry,” she said with her timid, crisp voice. “But… Claude told me… It’s just that Lysithea is awake and Claude wants to try and have a meeting as soon as possible.” 

She noticed their expressions, her eyes falling on Annette’s wet face.

“What— what happened?” she said, her normally tired eyes widening. “I— I can tell them to wait…”

“No.” Dimitri threw his sheets off and slid his feet around to the side of the bed. “I wish to talk. Immediately.”

Dedue’s face creased; his hand wavered near Dimitri in case he needed to catch him. 

“Your Highness. I want to advise against that.” 

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want to sit here another second.” His voice sounded more bitter than he wanted it to as he stood. Black spots marbled his vision, and he swayed a bit before sitting down. “I just got dizzy for a moment,” he said before anyone else could speak.

“Please. At least take my arm.” Dedue’s eyes pleaded with him. Dimitri wanted to wave his vassal away, but the more rational part of his brain told him to curb his hostility. He was still the leader of the Blue Lions and the Prince of Faerghus. He didn’t have the luxury of losing a handle on his emotions like Felix did…

_You’re a hypocrite._

Dimitri couldn’t argue with himself on that. Emotionally, he was less stable than one of Annette’s home-brew spells. His feelings were everything _but_ controlled. Still, he had to try to move forward, at least for the time being. Meeting with Claude… talking to Lysithea… developing some sort of plan of action… Dimitri knew he had to do all of that first and, as soon as it was done… He could worry about the best way to make Miklan regret being born. 


	20. Beyond Lysithea's Testimony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I had some issues with google docs. Also! Happy Ch. 20 AND 60k. :)

The moment Dimitri saw Lysithea, most of his agitation melted into shock. 

She lay in her bed, one hand clutching Claude’s as he knelt beside her. In other circumstances, Dimitri knew she would spurn Claude’s concern and help, but now… she seemed either comforted by his presence or simply too weak to refuse his hold. Her eyes were sunken and dull like those of a much older, much sicker woman. They only flickered slightly when the Lions entered. Even her hair made her seem older; it had always been white, but it normally grew thick, with a youthful sheen. Now, it was whispy and dry. Lysithea’s attire only added to her ghoulish appearance. She wore a pale blue nightgown— likely borrowed from Lady Gautier. The dress was too large for her and the neckline dipped down far enough for Dimitri to see that her chest had also been mummified with gauze. 

All in all, she looked as if she had just turned back from death’s doorway, but only after a moment of serious consideration. 

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” Claude said as Dimitri approached. Standing, he gave Lysithea’s hand a slight squeeze. His eyes, observant as usual, noted Dimitri’s expression. Claude hesitated. “What’s wrong?”

He gave away just one wrong octave, one hint of concern, but it had been enough. Dimitri sighed, suddenly feeling humiliated. There he was clutching Dedue’s arm, his downtrodden Lions close behind him. Of course Claude would pick up on the mood…

“We need to discuss… many things.” Dimitri didn’t quite know how to start. How was he supposed to tell Claude that Sylvain was probably dead? Before, the news had just slipped out… But now… 

Dimitri swallowed and turned to Byleth. She wore only her black shorts and a cropped black top. Unlike Dimitri and Lysithea, the healers had been able to mend her with simple doses of magic, but Dimitri still winced when he saw the pink scars across her abdomen.

“Are you well, Professor?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” Her tone was firm. “The slashes were easy to heal. Then Claude and Lady Gautier made an antidote for the venom.” Finally, her expression changed; she gave Claude a fond, sideways glance that Dimitri couldn’t help but be envious of… then he felt guilty about this very envy a mere moment later. He couldn’t get wrapped up in selfish emotions at a time like this. The shame he felt finally forced him to spill the truth.

Dimitri spoke, telling the Deer everything he’d told his own classmates. He was aware of his voice, but somehow felt disconnected from it, as if he were somehow just a bystander in his own body. The words just flowed out from him, and he listened to each detail numbly until the story concluded, his voice dropping a grim curtain on what had happened in the Gautier Margraviate. 

After a icy silence, Claude said,

“I am so sorry.” He sounded far more genuine then it typically did, causing Sylvain’s death to hit Dimitri in a second wave. The prince grimaced, fearing that he’d break down in front of the other house leader. Thankfully, Claude didn’t seem to notice; his brow furrowed. “You didn’t see a body, though. We should still consider the possibility that he’s alive. Miklan could have been mistaken. It’s even more likely that he’s purposely misleading you.”

“That’s what I said,” Felix told Claude darkly. “Lying is in character for him.”

“Right,” said Hilda, slowly overcoming her own shock. “He could totally be lying. Besides, we don’t know that having your crest removed definitely kills a person.”

“We know close to nothing about crest experiments in general,” admitted Dimitri. Almost involuntarily, he turned back to Lysithea. Something he'd said had sharpened her somber expression. He watched her dig her thumbnail into the side of one of her fingers, leaving a purple dent behind. Dimitri opened his mouth to address her and then hesitated.

_Is it my place to say what happened in front of everyone?_

She did not allow him to make that choice.

“You do not have to worry,” she said, “about what you saw. I will… I will speak about it myself. I should have said something before. You deserve to know.”

Claude looked over his shoulder at her, but he did not speak. He’d likely surmised that _something_ peculiar had happened back in the village. The charred body of Miklan’s accomplice was as easy to ignore as a bear in a tea parlor. 

Lysithea shifted uncomfortably before finally throwing off her sheets and extending her delicate hands. Then, just as Dimitri had seen before, two crests materialized in golden light.

The Minor Crest of Charon and the Major Crest of Gloucester. 

With a single wheeze of pain, Lysithea’s head fell forward and her hair spilled over her shoulders. The crests dissolved as Byleth reached Lysithea, steadying her. The professor sat on the side of the bed, holding her student around the shoulders. Lysithea raised her head and rested it against Byleth, exhausted. 

“Lysithea…” Marianne said quietly. “How… how is that possible?” She backed up, almost hitting Annette before apologizing with a squeak.

Before Lysithea even answered, Dimitri understood what she’d say. Somehow, in those few seconds, the scraps of information he had fell back into place and formed a larger picture. A gruesome picture. Lysithea seemed to notice his realization because she nodded.

“The people we’re dealing with now, those masked men in the village, this is not the first time they’ve done this. Sylvain isn’t their first victim.” She stared down at her hands and began to dig her nails into her skin once more.

“I once had five older siblings,” she said. “After House Ordelia backed House Hyrm’s failed rebellion, men from the empire took all six of us as prisoners. I… I’d assumed it was to keep my parents in line. But that was not what they wanted...”

Her voice fractured so noticeably that even she seemed taken aback by it. Dimitri worried that her thumbnail would break skin.

“Do you need time?” Hilda asked. “We can wait until—”

“No!” Lysithea’s eyes widened. “No! I can’t do that. I’ve done enough damage. If I’d told you then maybe we could have done something for Sylvain! I knew who these people were and could have told you, but I was foolish!”

“You were just confused,” said Claude firmly. Lysithea raised her head from Byleth’s shoulder and her jaw trembled as if his words stung her more than they comforted her. 

“That’s no excuse. The moment you explained Professor Byleth’s letter, I knew what was happening to Sylvain. That’s why I wanted to come so badly. I thought— No...” She shook her head. “I have no idea _what_ I was thinking.” 

“Lysithea.” Ingrid’s voice sounded so small and so weak, as if it would break if she raised it any more. She folded her arms tightly and stared at her shoes. “You said you _once_ had siblings. Were they killed? By these experiments?”

That question almost made Dimitri smell blood. He felt a sensation like fingers bouncing up his spine when he saw Lysithea’s pupils dilate. She nodded listlessly. 

“Those men took us somewhere dark and cold. I remember many rituals… and… so much blood… That’s how they do it. They exchange blood. I remember them removing my brothers and sisters and, finally… I remember being aware that I was the only one left in that place. I remember feeling like…” Her eyes squeezed shut. “It’s so sick… I remember wishing that I heard their screams again because I couldn’t stand the silence. I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take being all alone.” 

She rasped and dug deeper into her own skin until Dimitri finally saw traces of red beneath her nails. No one dared say a word. Stepping away from Dedue, Dimitri searched Claude and Byleth for some sign of what he should say. But the two of them gave away no indication of their thoughts. 

“Your Highness.” At last, Lysithea addressed him. “You were the only one who saw Miklan. What did he look like? Did he have hair like mine?”

The image of Miklan Gautier wielding the Lance of Ruin came back to Dimitri. He saw the bandit’s scarred face and his wild, orange hair disrupted by streaks of white. 

“Not exactly… It was still reddish. But there were white patches.” Dimitri picked at a piece of gauze around his shoulder. “Was that because of crest experimentation, then?”

She nodded. “When I woke up one day, they gave me a mirror and… I hardly recognized myself. My hair wasn’t always like this and my skin wasn’t always so pale. But people… aren’t meant to have their blood and crests toyed with… These experiments attack your very life force.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry. It sounds like whatever happened to Miklan was slightly different than what happened to me, but it still means… that there is a very good chance that Miklan was telling the truth.”

“But you survived!” Felix spoke up again. He sounded as if he were debating her, but Dimitri caught panic in his tone. “You lived! So, it’s still possible. We know it is!”

Lysithea watched him sadly. Dimitri had never noticed how pink her eyes were until now, when the irises contrasted so heavily with the dark bags beneath. “Yes… But, like I said. These experiments use your life force. I may have survived, but it’s temporary. They told me that I had ten years at the very most… I— I don’t have a whole lot of time. If Sylvain did survive, then he’s probably like me.” She hung her head and said,

“A dead man walking.”

This was like a horror story, the kind that Glenn used to read to Dimitri and the others during sleepovers because they begged. Glenn Fraldarius just had a way of making stories deliciously macabre, frightening yet intoxicating. But there was nothing fascinating about this; this situation gave Dimitri a new empathy for the characters in Glenn’s stories and made him understand how rigid, how sick and lost they felt. Dimitri saw the monsters from Gautier Margraviate, he saw the limp shell of a woman swinging from the end of Byleth’s blade, misty membrains over her eyes. He saw Sylvain and Lysithea screaming for help as their blood was stolen and they nearly turned to dust. He saw Miklan Gautier’s grinning face, marred by his scar, as he swung his blade into his own father’s neck. 

For Dimitri, who had still not completely woken up from the terrors of Duscur, this was another nightmare.

“But it is different…” said Lysithea, her effort to backtrack all too apparent. “I mean, I have more crests than the human body should be able to handle. Sylvain had one taken. The side effects could be entirely different.”

“Yes.” Ingrid’s smile shook. “Yes. Maybe it’s different.”

They sat in silence, each trying to convince him or herself of that.

“Lysithea,” said Claude at last. He tucked his braid behind his ear and looked at her with hard green eyes. “We’ll get you help. I know you probably want to keep this a secret, but I won’t accept that. I’m taking you to Professor Hanneman when we return to the academy.”

“He knows.” She stared at the lines on her palms. “He’s the only one who does. He’s a crest scholar, so I just… came clean one day. He’s been trying his best and thinks that he could get my lifespan back to normal if he removed a crest. But we don’t have any idea how to do that.”

She stared at Dimitri and the cloudiness of her eyes intensified for a moment, but she seemed to resign herself to some hard-to-swallow truth. A melancholic smile passed over her lips.

“I don’t hate having two crests anymore,” she said. “Because of these crests, I have the power I need to protect people. I’m glad I was able to save you, Your Highness. And I’m glad I can be of use to Claude and Professor Byleth. Those demons thought they could use me, break me, and throw me back into the world. Nothing makes me happier than using these powers to fight them.”

Her eyes dipped back onto her lap and Dimitri watched gooseflesh crop up on her pale legs. She noticed it as well and tried to rub the bumps away.

“But?” asked Claude, leaning in. “I can tell there’s a ‘but.’”

Lysithea winced. “My parents are too old to bear another child. And I won’t be around too much longer. House Ordelia ends with me. Forever.” She bit her lip. “I don’t want to be remembered as a tragic child when I die. I don’t want people to pity me that way! I want to die as the best mage in all of Fodlan! I want my parents to benefit off that legacy… even when I’m gone. To do that, I was always willing to work hard and bring Leicester to prosperity… I’ll endure anything…”

At last, Dimitri felt as though he understood Lysithea von Ordelia. She was a spider on a gossamer web and pulling at one of her threads threatened everything she had ever built. Calling her a child brought to mind her short life and painful mortality. And talking about ghosts… Dimitri wanted to shake his head. He knew, from Claude, that she was terrified of spirits and now he knew why. He was ashamed of what he’d thought of her in the Gautier Margraviate; he’s seen her as a master of her ghosts, but that was not true. She was only so driven that she could fight through them.

“We need to keep fighting,” said Ashe in a low voice. He was usually such a sweet boy. But Dimitri thought that, when he made such furious expressions, could rival Felix in intimidation. “These people hurt you and Sylvain. They hurt the entire margraviate. Even if Sylvain is really gone we can’t quit.”

“I agree,” said Ingrid. “If we can’t save Sylvain, then we can avenge him. And we can make sure nobody ever _needs_ to be avenged again. You said these people were based in Adrestia, didn’t you, Lysithea? Then we start searching there.”

“Right.” A strange look had passed over Claude’s face, like he’d thought of something he wished he hadn’t. “Teach, Lysithea, Dimitri, do you think the four of us could speak in private? There’s something a bit dark that I want to go over.”

Before Dimitri could even respond, the door swung open and Lady Gautier entered, flanked by two guards in silver armor. Her eyes were wider than they had been in some time, full of a vitality fueled with fear. Dimitri only needed to flick his head sharply, once, to let the whole room know one thing— not to tell her anything about their discussion. He didn’t want her to know about Sylvain. In her current state, Dimitri feared that her younger son’s possible death might physically kill her. 

The noblewoman raised her hands and presented Dimitri an envelope which had been pieced through the center. On the front were two names:

_Dimitri Blaiddyd_

_Byleth Eisner_

  
  


“I had my servants examine it with magic,” said Lady Gautier. “It is not cursed or poisoned. Somebody used a dagger to stab it to the door… My men tried to catch the person, but they barely even caught a glimpse of him.”

 _This is just one thing after another_ , Dimitri couldn’t help but think. Who would want to write him a letter without revealing their identity? Was someone playing double agent? Why? Did they fear the masked men or Dimitri... or both? The prince wanted to tackle one question at a time, and Claude’s request had piqued his interest first. What could the duke have to speak to him, Lysithea, and Byleth about? A piece of Dimitri thought he knew but… he didn’t want to be right. 

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to shoo Phoebe Gautier away; she eyed the letter with poorly disguised enthrallment. The paper brought her hope somehow and, though Dimitri knew he could crush those hopes just as he’d done to his Lions… He couldn’t bring himself to.

The letter felt thin when he grasped it. There was only a single sheet of parchment in the envelope. Leaning over to Byleth, Dimitri unfolded the paper carefully so as not to increase the tear from where the knife had been. 

The envelope contained a simple map of Adrestia. At first, Dimitri wasn’t sure what to make of it. Then, he noticed writing directly on the Hyrm Mountains—

Thinly written coordinates and the words: 

_They’re here._


	21. Beyond Airmid

For a day or two, Miklan tried to avoid Thales, Cornelia, Solon, and all the numerous masked Agarthans who hurried, like bees, around the halls of Shambhala. He watched the door to Sylvain’s new cell (they’d moved him and tethered him back to the wall) every so often just to make sure they were still giving him food and water, but beyond that, Miklan kept to himself. He had no one he could even bear the thought of talking to. Miklan still considered Thales and the others his goddess-sends, the people who finally gave him a purpose in his life. But he could only endure so much time with them. Their words and gazes always contained a dollop of condescension and reminded Miklan frequently that he was simply not one of them. 

And Sylvain… 

Many times, Miklan almost went to see him only to stop himself for a reason he couldn’t put his finger on. He just didn’t want to know what his brother would say or do; he wanted to stay in this limbo a little while longer.

When this self-inflicted isolation began to wear on him, Miklan warped to the outskirts of a small village in Airmid. Here, no one knew him. He could walk freely without worrying that someone would sound an alarm. For a while, Miklan did nothing but stroll and people-watch, and this was somewhat of a new experience for him. 

When he was a child, he hardly spent time in town. When he needed to get out of the mansion, he explored the forest by the estate. Sometimes, he would bring his lunch with him to find some clearing where he could eat while enjoying the silence. He had a period of time when he got into hunting. He found stones to chisel into small daggers, and he figured out how to set traps for snow rabbits, birds, and even raccoons. Teaching himself how to hunt and kill had satisfied him, made him feel resourceful and clever. He still remembered the thrill of checking a trap and finding a little animal inside. Miklan usually had no real reason to kill whatever he caught, but usually he did and left carrion for the magpies and foxes to get fat on. 

Then, when Miklan grew up, he spent most of his time with his friends in Conand Tower and he kept his head down whenever he entered the village. Of course, he could never block everything out and he often spotted Sylvain, accompanied by friends, across the plaza. Sometimes it was just Ingrid and Felix and the three of them ate sweet buns or skewered herring as they walked. Other times, Sylvain was alone with a woman— always a different one, Miklan noticed. Back then, he hadn’t cared enough about his brother's life to probe him for answers, but he found it odd and a bit shameful. If anyone had that many relationships, it became apparent to everyone that they had ulterior motives for dating.

Miklan resented his parents for never saying a word about it. They didn’t care what their youngest son did as long as he remained an asset to the Gautier House. However, Felix and Ingrid did care. Miklan remembered overhearing a conversation about it from the reading room one afternoon.

_“I can’t believe you,” Ingrid said. The sound of a “smack” and someone sucking in air followed._

_“Ingrid! Ow! Not the face!”_

_“It wasn’t that hard, you absolute child.” She huffed. “Besides, this is getting out of hand. You made that girl cry. Then I had to go patch things up. I’m sick of this, Sylvain.”_

_“I agree,” came Felix’s voice. “It’s irritating. You’re getting out of control and I don’t want any more random women coming up to_ me _just to ask about you.”_

_“It is irritating. For us,” Ingrid told him. “But for those girls, it’s heartbreaking. Sylvain, you’re not a bad person. So, what’s going on? Can you tell us?”_

_A long silence._

_Miklan frowned and tried to slide a book back into a slot in the bookcase as subtly as possible. Something about this conversation had hooked him… Perhaps it was the fact that Ingrid wasn’t just annoyed with Sylvain— She was worried about him. This had made Miklan realize that, for once, his parents had been ignoring Sylvain just as much as they’d ignored him. Perhaps, they viewed it as spoiling him, allowing him to do whatever he wanted without repercussion… But how did Sylvain feel about that? The fact that his brother might be irritated at this lack of attention, gave Miklan a sense of gratification._

_“Really. Nothing is going on,” Sylvain said at last. “I’m just young, handsome, and charming and I want to make the most out of life while I can.” He’d meant to come off as facetious, clearly, but his cadence had missed the mark. His tone hid something else._

_“Sylvain…” Ingrid said, trying to get more._

_“I’m being serious! I can’t actually marry any of these people. I know that, they know that. My parents decide those things. It’s not my fault if these girls ignore the obvious just because they think I could make their houses better.”_

_“None of that gives you a license to use people for your own enjoyment.”_

_“Can we stop talking about this?”_

_Another long pause made Miklan go still. For a moment, he feared that they’d decide to enter the reading room and see him standing there eavesdropping. What could he do to save face then…_

_Before he could stress over it too much, Ingrid sighed._

_"Very well. Just try to moderate things a bit or I’ll have to step in and we’ll just have this conversation all over again.”_

_The room went silent for a third, final time. Only, now, Miklan could tell that he wasn’t the only one perturbed by the stillness. The floorboards creaked as someone shifted their weight. Finally, Sylvain said,_

_“So, Felix, is your father home now?”_

_“No.” Felix’s tone was sour and low. “He’s still in Fhirdiad with Reagent Rufus, Sir Gustav, and Dimitri.”_

_“Don’t take it too hard.” Ingrid’s voice seemingly slid right behind Felix’s, as if she were afraid any pause would rile him up. “Dimitri just needs the help more than we do. He’s going to be king and he’s really got no one else to show him how.”_

_“Yeah, I’m aware. My mother and I are fine without my father. It’s great, really, I haven’t had to hear about how fantastic Dimitri is for a week. No arguments about Glenn either.”_

_Felix’s voice rose as he spoke, but it kept a cold anger, a sound that functioned like a snake’s rattle, a warning._

_Miklan heard the click of a door opening._

_“Come on,” said Ingrid. “Let’s go to town. You both need some air. I’ll get you snacks. Just no talking about family and absolutely no flirting.”_

_“Sounds great, Mother!” said Sylvain, back to his normal, playful disposition. “Let’s get sweet buns.”_

_“No. You’re just saying that because Felix always ends up giving you his. And don’t call me ‘mother.’”_

_“Hey, don’t expose me like that—”_

_The door shut once again, clipping off their conversation, as the three set off towards town. Miklan sat in one of the velvet chairs and drummed his thick fingers on his knee, thinking about what he’d heard. It had proved that his brother’s interest in women_ was _something wrong and out of control— certainly. But Miklan didn’t quite know what to make of that. Maybe Sylvain had been telling the truth, that this was just fun for him. But the wariness in his tone seemed to indicate something else._

Miklan didn’t know why he remembered all that as he walked through the streets of this Airmid village now. The memory had creeped into the back of his brain and evaporated just as quickly. Shaking his head, the bandit observed his surroundings. The towns in Adrestia had their own culture, one different from Faerghus'. Here, the buildings had a classic style, one that paid homage to past eras. Instead of all the blues, whites, and silvers people liked in the Gautier Margraviate (because it complimented the snowfall), the colors of choice here were red, plumb, and gold. Miklan needed to duck under a lovely tapestry of all those colors just to enter a pub.

Almost immediately, he felt someone’s gaze on him. He glanced to the side and saw a middle-aged woman staring. The simple brown dress and white apron she wore told Miklan that she was staff and so, perhaps, that’s why she watched him with such distrusting eyes. Miklan was used to that look; he’d given the people of the Gautier Margraviate a reason to watch him that way. He had a reputation there, a foul one. But here… 

Miklan shook his head with an annoyed grunt and turned away from her. Even here, people saw him as bad news. Maybe he shouldn’t blame them; he was large and scarred and the scowl on his face looked permanent. He was the opposite of his younger brother who people liked and trusted just with one glance. Ah well, at least people would know not to mess with him.

The worker at the counter, unlike her partner, didn’t seem to mind him at all. In fact, she didn’t look like she’d ever frowned a day in her life. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, but deep smile lines had already formed on her face. 

“Welcome, Sir! I’ll be with you in just a moment, all righty?”

Flipping long chestnut hair behind her shoulder, she poured three mugs of ale from a barrel in the back and passed them out to two men and a woman sitting at the bar. Then, she leaned forward, grabbing a pad of paper and quill.

“Haven’t seen you around. Just visiting Airmid?”

“Uh, yeah.” He didn’t know what else to say. The other worker was still eyeing him and he wanted to order and leave as quickly as possible.

“Excellent. Well, we have all sorts of liquor. Most types, actually. If you want food, we’ve got beast meat rolls, Gronder fox stew, potato gratin, and pheasant eggs.”

“The rolls. Four of them.”

“Sure thing. Oh, but they are pretty large.” She placed her paper pad on the counter and used her hands to form a circle which indicated the size. “Four still good?”

“Yeah. I’ll give some to my brother.”

Miklan blinked. That had just come out and the normalcy of it hit him. How had he sounded so nonchalant, as if the situation with Sylvain weren’t something cruel and violent? Perhaps, it was the newness of Airmid, how far removed it was from Faerghus, that had caused Miklan to speak so casually. His statement hadn’t really been a lie— but it still felt like one. If this woman knew about everything, it would no doubt finally drop the grin off her face.

“Ah! I see! Give us five minutes.”

The meal had ended up costing Miklan more than he expected, but he didn't care. He took his order and hurried back to the streets, away from the hawk-like eyes of the older barmaid. If he’d been back in the margraviate, he may have gone off on her and really made her hate his guts. But he couldn’t afford to stir up trouble in this town. So, he swallowed his anger. 

At least the girl at the counter had been pleasant. She’d given him the rolls in a circular copper tin, and they were just as large as she’d claimed. Miklan, who’d eaten a whole cheese gratin in one sitting before, was full after just two of them. Tucking the tin beneath his arm, he headed towards the outskirts of the town and beyond. When he’d entered the wilderness, he used the little warp trick the Agarthians had taught him and vanished from Airmid.

Right when he returned to Shambhala, Cornelia approached him.

“There you are,” she said. “I wanted you to come look things over with me. It’s about… hm, what’s that?” 

She pointed to the copper tin. 

“Just some food,” said Miklan with a shrug. “I took a walk through a village.”

“Ah. Well, I can’t blame you. It’s easy to get cabin fever in this place.” She stifled a giggle with her long fingers. “Being Lady Cornelia has some perks in that sense. I enjoy my trips to Fhirdiad. Anyway, come with me.”

Miklan made no protest and allowed her to lead him to a large holding area just a few hallways away from the prison block where they kept Sylvain. He followed her through the sliding doors and his mouth widened with sick fascination when he saw what she wished to show him.

The room was massive and filled with almost a dozen large, scaled beasts. Many of them roared and drooled acid onto the obsidian floor. Though they were monsters, Miklan could see frustration in their minute, yellow eyes. He recalled attacking the margraviate; a few of these creatures had to have been men and woman that he snatched and forced crest stones onto as they shrieked and clawed at him. He hadn’t grabbed any children— at least not that he remembered— but several monsters here were smaller than the rest, probably the work of the masked Agarthans. 

One monster lumbered across the enclosure and sniffed at a man who lay motionless on the floor. It dripped saliva onto him which turned his skin red and raw. Cornelia noticed this and smirked, flicking her wrist and batting the beast away with a bolt of magic.

“Now you see our dilemma,” she told Miklan. She bent over the man’s body shaking her head with feigned distress. “Some of these people are a bit too fragile to stay monsters for long. They die and revert.” To prove her point, she slammed the front of her shoe into the man’s rib cage and he flopped over, lifeless eyes reflecting the blue ceiling lights. 

“This still looks like enough,” Miklan said, scanning the clusters of beasts. “For now, at least. When do you intend to attack Garreg Mach, again?”

“Not for another two months. You're correct that this is fine. But we could lose a few more between now and then.” She tapped the tips of her fingers together and flashed a row of straight teeth. “We need to have backups just in case. Thales and Solon figured that this would be the best option for your brother.” 

“What?” Miklan nearly dropped his tin.

“Oh, don’t act so shocked.” Her heels clacked against the ground as she approached him. She was an attractive woman, but the expression she was making now had to have been one of the ugliest things Miklan had ever seen.

“ _You_ did this to these people, remember? You aren’t a good man, Miklan. Well, at least not when it comes to the moral standards of Fodlan. You took the plunge into this lifestyle a long time ago. And you’ve benefited off of other people’s pain for years. When you came to us, you had no problems with any of this.” She yawned as if the conversation had suddenly bored her. With her thumb, she rubbed at some of the lipstick in the corner of her mouth. “But if fratricide hurts your tummy so much, then we’ll allow you this option. Sylvain can remain human until the assault on Garreg Mach— that’s more time than we initially planned to give you— then we’ll make actual use of him.”

Miklan watched one of the beasts lower itself onto its belly and close its eyes. What had once been human was deformed, mindless, and in agony. If Cornelia had proposed this plan a month ago, when Sylvain was still a spoiled brat with a crest he didn’t deserve, Miklan would have eagerly agreed. But now… his brother was so utterly beaten that all of this seemed like hitting someone while they were down. There was very little to gain from it. Still… it was better than killing him in cold blood. Or… was it?

The corpse on the floor’s milky, glazed eyes suddenly made Miklan sick. 

“I guess I... Excuse me."

He wanted out of this room, away from these creatures and their toxic fumes, as quickly as possible. Without even excusing himself, he ducked back into the halls and tried to erase the sight of those creatures from his brain with a few futile shakes of his skull.

Then he glanced back down at the copper tin beneath his arm and headed towards the prison block.


	22. Beyond Selfishness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this chapter out quickly! I hope you enjoy.

Sylvain could tell, from the way the door opened so slowly, that Miklan was his newest visitor. The other men tended to throw the door against the wall, sending shock waves through the alien stone— the reverberations made Sylvain lurch almost every time, and the fetters on his wrists and ankles cut into his skin as he did. The masked men always left water and more of that slop he never ate and left without a word. 

But now, the person who’d entered clearly wanted to talk. He waited tentatively before closing the door behind him. With a soft grunt, the visitor knelt to the floor and placed something metal against on the ground. A short “pop”— the removal of a lid— followed and Sylvain smelled something hot and delicious, some sort of meat. He wanted to whirl around immediately, at the price of twisting his already-shattered leg, and seize whatever it was. It was the first time in ages that he’d caught a whiff of something that had flavor; it was so tantalizing that it actually hurt his stomach. Sylvain had heard that, after people had been starved, the foods they took for granted became too rich to handle. If he wasn’t careful, he’d only vomit whatever this was all over the floor…

He promised to restrain himself and test the food bite-by-bite. _After_ Miklan left. He didn’t want to even look at his brother, and he was willing to lose the meal all together if it meant he wouldn’t have to.

“I brought you something,” Miklan said at last. “It’s better than the shit they’ve been giving you”

_Anything is better than that…_

“Come on. Take it. I need to talk to you while you eat.”

He didn’t budge.

“Sylvain.” Miklan’s hand tapped his shoulder.

“ _Don’t fucking touch me!_ ”

Twisting to hit his brother’s hand away with his bound wrists, Sylvain caught a glimpse of Miklan’s face. His small, brown eyes had opened wide in surprise. He’d never heard Sylvain swear like that before, nothing stronger than a “damn” or “bastard” here and there. Cursing wasn’t against Sylvain’s sensibilities (he really didn’t mind it), it just didn’t really fit his winsome persona. But, lately, he’d barely felt like himself. His clean, aristocratic exterior had frayed apart; he had nobody to impress, nobody he cared about here. 

Trying desperately to ignore the screaming of his broken leg, Sylvain drew dank, rotten air into his lungs. He tried to calm down and regain his guarded, immovable posture, anything to convince his brother to leave. 

“I’ll try to get you out of here,” said Miklan at last, recovering from his shock, “and make sure they don’t harm you anymore. But… I want you to work with us. These Agarthans are going to kill so many people and they’re going to use you whether you agree or not. Then they’ll kill you too. If you can just cooperate with me then…”

Sylvain turned and looked at Miklan with such a withering stare that his brother trailed off. 

“What’s wrong with you? Why would I ever throw my lot in with these demons!? One of my best friends is the prince! Why would you even ask—” Sylvain blinked, finally understanding. His brother’s behavior had been strange lately, volleying between violent and mild ever since the destruction of Conand Tower and the crest experiment. Miklan had made no sense to Sylvain; he seemed to swap between agitated and lenient with no rhyme or reason. But… Sylvain thought he understood now.

“If I die, you’re all alone, huh…” 

The way Miklan froze confirmed Sylvain’s theory. He suddenly gained the upper hand in the conversation and now he _didn’t_ want Miklan to leave. He wanted to tear him apart and peel at the parts of him that were the most raw. 

“Goddess! You’re pathetic!” Sylvain couldn’t stop talking, he was filling up with rage, choking on it. “You didn’t give a damn about me when _I_ wanted to be friends because you were so— so intimidated! So wrapped up in your own selfishness! And, now that you finally feel in control of your own messed up life, you suddenly care what happens to me!”

He thought his brother would get angry. He prepared himself for a fight, to get spat at or hit… But Miklan just glared at him, silently and with a glacial bitterness, enough to drop the whole cell’s temperature. Finally, he said,

“Even after everything, you’re still spoiled. You have no idea what it’s like to be in my position, to have everything you start to care about taken again and again and again! You’ve never been alone and you’ve never changed!”

“I haven’t?!” Now, Sylvain had entirely abandoned his plan to stay distant. He dove into this argument even more violently than his brother did. “At least people were always honest with you, Miklan! They didn’t just fake their feelings because they wanted something! You want to talk about things that have never changed? I’ll give you one! Nobody in this whole family has ever cared about me because they _liked_ me! Mother and Father thought they could use me because of my crest and, now that I don’t have one anymore, you think _you_ can use me.” 

Sylvain gasped for air and tried to fend off oncoming tears of rage. “I used to feel _bad_ for you because I thought you were the black sheep in this family! I finally get that you aren’t at all! I’m the only one who’s different! I’m the only one who is _any_ different!”

“Are you?!” Miklan fired back. “Sylvain, are you dumb?! Everyone in the whole margraviate knows that you’re a manipulator! Or are you expecting me to believe that you actually cared about all those women you brought home! You’re saying you never used anybody?! You probably don’t even remember their names.”

Now Miklan had secured the upper hand. Sylvain pressed his back against the wall as if shoved. His head filled with static and he remembered slivers of the times Miklan was referring to; these memories pressed through the haze in snippets. He saw piles of unfamiliar clothing on his bedroom floor, he remembered the feeling of lips and skin and nails— the smell of sweat and lilies— but not a single face or voice. Hell, he didn’t even know if any of those people were even still alive. He’d forced himself to erase the details and the names. After sneaking into someone’s life, he slipped out forever because…

It was all revenge. Pleasure, and revenge on anyone he could sink his hooks into.

“I wasn’t…” Sylvain stopped. He didn’t know how to deny it. His mind sunk somewhere even deeper than his surroundings, somewhere even more inescapable than Shambhala. He felt worthless. And he didn’t know why this world had even welcomed him into it if things were going to turn out this way. Finally, he muttered,

“Fine. Fine, If you want me to, I will admit to that. I’m a horrible human being. But that won’t change anything. I made up my mind to never trust you ever again. And if there’s one single thing I still have control of, it’s that. So, I’ll have to decline your offer even if I die because of it. I can’t even pretend to join you. I just can’t bring myself to do it.”

Whatever food Miklan had brought no longer smelled good. It had taken on the savor of the conversation. Now it gave Sylvain a headache worse than the pain in his stomach as it slowly chewed itself apart. He closed his eyes just so he wouldn’t have to look at Miklan. If there was some way to completely turn off his senses— to suspend himself somewhere where he couldn’t smell the food slowly mixing with the mildew of the cell or hear Miklan’s breathing or see his bitter face ever again— Sylvain would have paid anything for it.

“They want to do worse than kill you,” said Miklan. “A few days ago, I attacked the margravate as… a test. The Agarthans create monsters to fight for them by exposing people to crest stones. You no longer have a crest, so you’re susceptible. Once they attack Garreg Mach, they’ll use you in their army. Why not choose to keep your humanity?”

Sylvain already knew that they’d attacked the magraviate, but hearing these details… It made his eyes snap back open. All those villagers who’d had nothing to do with any of this… Miklan had really just ruined them like that… Sylvain imagined the creation of these monsters, not because he wanted to but because he felt like he owed them pity. How many people had struggled against his brother, pleading to someone who had no empathy at all?

“Miklan, I think dying is the only way to keep my humanity at this point. These Agarthans don’t sound human. And neither do you.”

Wordlessly, Miklan straightened and stood. His brow furrowed across before falling back down into it’s normal, tense glower. Sylvain relaxed and realized that he truly had expected Miklan to attack him at some point. That, at least, had not come to pass. The bandit headed back towards the door.

“I’ll give you some time to think about it at the very least,” he said, before pulling the door closed behind him.

Alone again with only the darkness, his shackles, and the tin of food that managed to smell delicious and vile, Sylvain closed his eyes. He’d been sleeping even more now than ever before. The nightmares had stopped after his escape attempt; the burden of hope lifted. Losing consciousness was the only way to dull the pain in his leg and calm his thoughts which shot around like hundreds of water striders across the surface of his mind. If the goddess was the type to keep the world at a balance, take lives for lives, or pay for peace with suffering… He hoped she’d accept him now, if that’s what it took to correct everything that House Gautier had ever done to Faerghus. 

*****

Dedue finally put his foot down, and in a way Dimitri had never seen before.

“You are not going,” he said, stating a fact rather than a request. Standing sentinel before Dimitri, he set his jaw and rested his crossed arms against his chest. Having no desire to press his vassal further, especially after almost losing his life in the margravate, Dimitri nodded. 

“I believe you are right. I am not sure how useful I can be with a wound like this.”

Upon hearing this, Dedue instantly softened up. Dimitri could almost see the tension melt off of his muscles. He’d expected a struggle, and Dimitri was glad to offer him an easy, peaceful resolution for once. After everything, he deserved it. However, a wild desire, a yearning for battle, the side of Dimitri that Felix called “the boar,” still reared up inside the prince. He _did_ want to go to Adrestia and find this cult. 

_You’ll be finally satisfied if you could just punish them,_ the boar growled. 

_Is that really true?_ Dimitri couldn’t help but think. 

His eyes wandered over to Lysithea who sat, fixated on the map which now lay on her bed. Killing these enemies, making them cry and beg for forgiveness wouldn’t wipe out everything that had happened to her. And it probably wouldn’t bring Sylvain back. But Dimitri didn’t care; he only longed for proof of action, something to offer. He valued mercy and the sanctity; Once he took the throne, those values would rest as a foundation for Faerghus. But for now… Dimitri could hardly stand the state of his kingdom. Nobles used crests as validation for their abuse and people like Dedue could hardly step into the sun without the harsh reminder that everyone saw him as a kingslayer. Innocent people fell victim to robbery and now this beastly attack… The kingdom felt as though it were decaying each time Dimitri breathed. Still, he knew he needed to stop and treat each angle with a delicateness that wasn’t in his nature. And every day he just told himself,

_If you hold on just a little longer. Dredge up a little more patience… then you will be a good king someday._

He wanted to rule without regret. But Felix was right, his temper was savage. Sometimes, he wanted war and hangings and to wash away Fodlan’s scum in a wave of blood. But he’d decided a long time ago to fight against his temper— rather than having his people fight against each other. 

“You and Lysithea should both stay here. Obviously,” said Claude. Their new information had given him a buzz. His boots thudded across the floor as he paced, sharply rotating one hand back and forth. After a few minutes, it dawned on Dimitri that this was the same motion needed to twirl an arrow. Though Claude’s steel quiver rested neatly against the wall, its arrows dormant, its lord continued his habit. “I humbly suggest that we also leave Dedue for extra security and Marianne for medicinal purposes.” 

“Mm.” Dedue bobbed his head in agreement, showing more and more consensus as the conversation continued. “That makes sense. That would leave Felix, Ingrid, Annette, Ashe, Hilda, Mercedes, the professor, and you to investigate this lead. That should be sufficient. Even if this is meant to be an ambush.” 

They’d all considered that motive. If this was a trap, that would explain why whoever had sent the map had gone to such lengths to remain anonymous. But none of them were willing to dwell on that possibility for too long. If this information was accurate… they simply could not pass it up. Not when these masked demons posed such a threat to Fodlan. 

“Are you sure you’re all right, Professor?” Dimitri asked, unsure if he should sound more formal or more concerned, both directions painted him in lights he didn’t quite enjoy— an aloof prince or a clingy boy… it was a difficult position. Or maybe… maybe he was just overthinking it.

“I will be fine.” Byleth’s smile, one of her rarest ones, eased him. “I am called the Ashen Demon for a reason. I have fought in significantly worse conditions. This is no worse than a training scratch.” 

“Just take her word for it,” Claude said. “Teach is amazing. I don’t like to set up schemes without her anymore. She’s become a crutch, unfortunately.”

The statement, to the untrained ear, came across as normal, almost cliched praise. But the shape of Byleth’s crest cropped up in Dimitri’s mind. Her powers had limits, that much was obvious… But Claude still saw her as a priceless fallback option. 

“Lord Riegan.”

Pheobe Gautier spoke at last. She’d dismissed her guards already and had listened, almost undetectably, to their plans. Now she twisted her wedding ring right to left, left to right— a habit akin to Claude’s wrist flourishes. Only, Dimitri couldn’t help but wonder if her gestures were rooted in some thought or memory she’d never express aloud. 

“Please bring Sylvain home,” she said, watching the empty space above Claude’s ear rather than his eyes. This request was so obvious that she hadn’t needed to speak it. Except for her own sake. 

“You can count on it, Lady G.” 

Claude’s confidence was so potent that it almost made Dimitri question whether or not he’d paid attention to their previous conversation. His reply was that quick, that uninhibited. During moments like these, Claude’s claim to Leichester and his prowess as nobility truly showed. He’d mastered the art of controlling a room, and of lying. 

_But I hope this is not a lie…_

Dimitri did not wish to ever tell Lady Gautier of her son’s fate until absolutely necessary. Most of all, his own heart wanted to believe that Sylvain was alive.

“It’s settled,” concluded Dimitri. “Claude, I give you permission to lead the Lions just this once. Everyone, begin preparations. The journey to Hyrm is long.”

The group dispersed, but Claude, Lysithea, Dimitri, and Byleth remained.

“So.” Claude’s optimism completely vaporized. “I’m assuming you all know what we must discuss.”

“Adrestia,” said Byleth. She pursed her lips until they lost color. “If that is where these enemies are coming from, we need to ask ourselves how deeply this runs.”

“Edelgard…” Lysthea grabbed the map off of the bed and placed one thumb on the Hyrm mountains before stretching her pointer to Enbarr. “I always wondered about her. She had hair like mine. And she always opted out of crest examinations with Professor Hanneman. I watched her a lot, but she never… she never seemed like she had anything to do with what had happened to me.”

“She was very eager for me to come to Faerghus,” recalled Claude. “I wonder if she’s up to something at Garreg Mach.”

Dimitri’s heart started to flutter with a broken rhythm, like a bird with an injured wing. He’d known Edelgard since they were young and he remembered enough to know that he'd cared about her as a child. Still, his time with her and the following months were dark days for Dimitri; his memories deceived him like tricks of the light. He knew sometimes that Edelgard had looked entirely different back then— plain mousy hair and a different tone in her expression. But, in the next moment, he could only see Edelgard as she was now. 

“Something did happen to her,” said Dimitri. “I have trouble sometimes recalling what she looked like when we were children. But I do not think her hair was ever that light.” 

“Then should we alert Lady Rhea?” asked Lysithea. “We need to tell her about Hyrm anyway. Should we reveal our suspicions then?”

“No.” Dimitri shook his head. “I believe in Edelgard. I believe that she is another victim of this, like you and Sylvain. We should speak with her first. If she and the Emperor are experiencing these same problems in their territory, we need to show her that we are people she can trust.”

“Ah. You are so pure-hearted, Your Princeliness.” Claude spoke affectionately, but his shoulders drew forward as if to guard something. “I, unfortunately, do not possess the virtue of trust like you do. I agree that we should keep this from Rhea for now… But I’m going to tell Lorenz and the others to keep an extra sharp watch on our Eagle friends.” 

“That is fair.” 

Dimitri didn’t wish to die on this hill. Besides, Claude had already given him so much. Denying him this would be slanted justice. 

_We need to ask ourselves how deeply this runs…_

That statement replayed suddenly in Dimitri’s head, fresh as though Byleth had just said it. Those words hung in his brain for a moment, but the conversation had moved on. Lysithea began to explain the details of the Hyrm revolt and Dimitri was forced to leave his concerns filed away for the time being. 


	23. Beyond Many Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda a weird side chapter almost. I know it's kind of unprofessional to change POVs this much but I was inspired to write Felix and, heck, this is just I fanfic I'm doing for fun so why not do what I want XD.
> 
> Hope you enjoy just a whole chapter of Felix angst.

As Felix packed the things he’d need— not much, just two swords, a backup dagger and some vials of concoction— he felt a knot the size of a plum pit forming in his core. He couldn’t think properly; flashes from the Lions’ conversation came back to him like veins of lightning against a black sky.

_“We knew. Things were always happening to him and we never did anything because he always gave some stupid reason for it or he begged us not to tell! What the hell were we doing?! Were we waiting for things to finally go too far?!”_

When Felix had said that, he’d meant to hurt Ingrid and Dimitri. But he wasn’t sure if he had. Being friends, giving friendship— was dangerous. It required that you show someone the things that could destroy you and then trust them not to use them. But, in Felix’s case, it was harder to trust himself. Sometimes he wondered why people like Ingrid and Sylvain still loved him, after the way he tended to cut them open for the smallest offence. He often wondered if Dimitri even _did_ care for him anymore… He had so few reasons to. 

The truth was, that when Felix said hurtful things, they tended to ricochet back and hit him with full force. The recoil damage often told him what he feared. Now, he realized how much guilt he’d been carrying with him all these years. He _had_ always known about Miklan. Some signs were subtle while others were obvious. Sometimes they were just Sylvain's little winces or an odd scrape or bruise, sometimes the sign was Miklan being openly hostile. Felix saw, perhaps more clearly than anyone, the burden Miklan was on Sylvain and the way it had formed him... For one thing, he had adored Glenn. He listened, as if captive, whenever Felix told stories about his brother and he remembered all the details. 

_“Hey, didn’t you say that Glenn once caught a fish longer than you in that pond?”_

_“Woah, is that the girl Glenn saved from those robbers that one time?”_

_“Glenn’s going to Garreg Mach, right? Do you think I’d be able to go someday?”_

This used to make Felix proud. Back then, he’d seen Sylvain as a neat, older kid (after all, a three year gap felt quite long to a small child). Knowing that he loved something that Felix had was gratifying. But… as they grew older, Felix noticed a sadness in Sylvain, one that showed up behind the joy when he spoke of Glenn. And, on the hibernal day of his brother’s funeral, Felix made a promise to himself not to share his grief with Sylvain. He could use Ingrid as an outlet from time to time, but not Sylvain. He felt guilty because, though he’d lost Glenn— at least Glenn had existed. Sylvain had never had anyone like that to begin with and never would. Felix knew that his friend did not think that way, and that he would be horrified to hear that Felix was avoiding the subject for that reason… But, still, Felix just couldn’t bring himself to look his friend in the eyes and speak of how much he loved and missed his brother. Not when Sylvain would have given anything to feel that way towards his own.

After things began to deteriorate among them, when Felix, Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain didn’t have the same relationship that they used to… Felix had begun to feel even worse.

_You really did fail him. Our group was all he had. You should have kept it together. But you didn’t._

At times, Felix had even resolved to drop out of Sylvain’s life entirely. Sometimes he convinced himself that that was best. 

_You’re cold and you only care about your training. He’s warm and social. You only hold each other back. And you are nothing but bad memories for him now._

But Felix always wised up before he ever drove a stake into anything.

He squinted at the ceiling of the Gautier manor and traced the white and blue patterns with his eyes. Now that this whole situation had finally imploded, Felix needed to admit to himself that he was no better than Margrave Gautier and his wife. They had to have known what Miklan was like… And they did nothing because that is what Sylvain claimed to want. They allowed Sylvain to reach after Miklan and they allowed him to drown himself in fake romances and temporary pleasure— they allowed almost everything because he was their prize. As long as he was happy, he would be loyal to his household. Only… any good parent would have known that he was not happy.

Any good friend would have known that too. 

Maybe that’s a reason that Sylvain had so adored Glenn. He’d been the type of boy to speak up, to actually question Sylvain, to look beneath his words for meaning. Around Miklan, he’d been careful and even polite, if Sylvain was watching, but he’d spoken up more than anyone else. Like a real bother.

Felix recalled one particular afternoon and each event played out, one after another, pulling him into deep, glaze-eyed thought.

_Glenn had taken Felix and Sylvain into town to see some traveling merchants. One seller had come with a small battalion of puppies. To Felix, it felt as though all the little boys and girls of Faerghus had stopped by to pet them. Back then, he’d been different, gentler, and he’d wanted to play with the puppies all day. He'd begging Glenn and Sylvain to stay— even when they merely suggested leaving for half an hour to get food or when Sylvain wandered off just slightly to talk to a group of girls._

_The hours passed quickly for Felix as he and Sylvain took turns cuddling and running around with a Blaiddyd Rex they’d both decided was the coolest of the bunch. The little dog yipped gleefully as Felix placed it in Sylvain’s lap. With a grin that showed his missing front teeth, Sylvain carefully flipped the puppy over to rub its belly. Glenn watched them from a distance. In later years, Felix came to understand just how much patience his brother had, at least when it came to him and Sylvain. He could be hot-headed around his own friends, but always gentle around children._

_When the sky turned peach and the number of puppies dwindled as they found new homes, Felix saw Miklan pass through the town gates, thick hands shoved into his pockets and his face so wrinkled with irritation that he looked much older than fourteen. He didn’t have his scar yet, but his expression seemed scary enough without it— especially when his mood was that foul._

_Sylvain spotted him and his face blanched with fear; the tips of his ears reddened. Though Felix had no idea what Miklan could want, Sylvain clearly did. He slowly dropped the Blaiddyd Rex back into Felix’s arms and stood. He opened his mouth, but Miklan beat him to the punch._

_“You told Mother and Father you’d be back before supper. Now, they’re worried and dragged me into it! All because you can’t ever be bothered to do as you promise! Why do you act like such a princess all the time?! You’re such a moron!”_

_“I’m really sorry! I just forgot! I didn’t do it on purpose.”_

_Without acknowledging him, Miklan roughly grabbed Sylvain beneath his shoulder, by the armpit, and hauled him up._

_Sylvain yelped— involuntarily, only making an effort to stop the cry when it had already hit the air._

_“Miklan!” Suddenly, Glenn was among them, having cleared several yards before Felix even noticed. A puppy scrambled to hide behind a crate, startled by his yell. “Stop it!”_

_At this, Sylvain’s expression shifted— in horror— to apologetic grimace._

_“He didn’t do anything wrong,” he told Glenn. “You can’t get mad at him for something I did. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention! I need to go now. Don’t worry.”_

_He waved his tiny hands in front of him, a timid request for Glenn to back off. But Glenn’s lips only tipped into a deeper scowl._

_“No. I_ am _worried.” He crossed his arms and straightened his posture, making his shoulders look a tad broader. “Miklan. Let me have a word with you. Over there.”_

_Glenn gestured towards the side of a closed flower shop, but barely turned his body and did not stop staring at Miklan even for a moment. Felix had seen his brother get into fights before, and usually win, but he couldn’t help but wonder how Glenn stayed so calm before someone of Miklan’s size. Perhaps he had that much faith in his crest and in his training._

_“I don’t have to go anywhere with you. And what I say to my own brother is none of your damn business.”_

_“You really should listen.”_

_The phrase was so simple and so intimidating. The mystery of it managed to be more menacing than any detailed threat Glenn could have come up with. It gave Miklan pause. Then, setting his jaw, he released Sylvain. With an irritated grunt, he followed Glenn to the side of the store._

_As he waited, Felix stroked the puppy’s velvet fur, hoping that would calm him down. Sylvain looked as though he’d seen a monster leap out of his closet. He stared at Miklan and Glenn began to bite his thumbnail._

_“Why is he doing this…” He murmured. “Brothers get in fights a lot. It’s not a big deal.”_

_Something about that statement had made Felix uncomfortable, but disagreeing with Sylvain made him feel even more uneasy. So he watered down his thoughts and said,_

_“Yeah. It is kind of normal. Maybe Glenn’s just in a bad mood.”_

_He hadn’t thought that at all but… He’d been like Lord and Lady Gautier— too worried about Sylvain’s feelings to speak up. Glenn, at least, had been different..._

_Neither Felix nor Sylvain could hear their brothers, but they could see their expressions rise and fall like tides as they spoke. Once, Miklan pointed at Sylvain and, once, Glenn pointed at Felix. Finally, Glenn demanded something and jutted his hand forward. His flat palm hung in the empty air for just a moment before Miklan rolled his eyes and took it. Smiling pleasantly, probably for their sake, Glenn led Miklan back to the kennels._

_The merchant leaned forward and told them that it was time for him to pack up so they returned the Blaiddyd Rex before waving their goodbyes. The four of them headed towards the edge of town together, Felix knowing that he and Glenn would soon have to switch directions if they wanted to make it back to Fraldarius territory before midnight._

_He hadn’t wanted Sylvain to go. His gut was telling him not to say goodbye… But, still, he did._

  
  


Felix hated thinking about that night. That memory was always tacked deep in the back of his mind; it remained there as he grew older and more and more jaded. It flared up like flame during Glenn’s funeral service and then had become just an ever-present darkness that Felix could control as long as he never spoke to Sylvain about Glenn or about Miklan.

But that hadn’t done Sylvain any good.

“If you’re alive,” muttered Felix, “I’ll find you. And then we’ll finally talk… about Miklan. About Glenn. About everything. I swear.”

Felix turned when he felt a presence in the back of the room. 

There, Claude clung in the doorway, watching Felix with a indecipherable expression. The stare down threw Felix off— just a little. He didn’t know Claude well; most of his impressions of the man came from Dimitri, from class, or from facing the Golden Deer in mock battles. He seemed like a respectable person, more calculating than Dimitri, but Felix couldn’t discern much more than that.

“Can I help you?” he said, straightening his scabbard.

“We’re going to have a brief meeting and then set off,” Claude told him. “Teach took care of contacting the Church. Now she and everyone else are in the foyer. Dimitri wants to speak to the Lions. Then you’re all mine.”

He chuckled good naturedly. 

“Fine.” Felix approached him and then stopped one last time. As this new mission moved forward… it scared him more than he’d ever let on. He wanted to go…

But each step led him closer to a conclusion he was not sure he would like. 


	24. Beyond Pre-Collision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at Ch 24 and 70k words.
> 
> I have a lot of decisions to make... I could end this fic with the conclusion about Miklan and Sylvain or continue into war phase. (O.O) That might make this like 100 chapters though! My big hesitation is that I don't want this fic to suddenly change from it's AO3 description. Perhaps I'll continue it as a sequel. What do you guys think? Would you like me to just continue, stop, or write a sequel? In any case, I would go on hiatus before then.
> 
> Also, maybe I'll get a beta-reader before then. I try my best, but I'm so sure I'm missing little errors. I used to write for another fandom with a beta reader back when I was SUPER concerned over my fanfics and didn't keep such a quick pace. She always found multiple mistakes even though I thought I caught them all lol.
> 
> Ah well, I do have time before I need to decide, but we're getting there.

Claude wasn’t eager to get back into the wagon. He still recalled the stiffness in his muscles and joints from the last trip. Now, he was preparing for another long journey with little stimulation. This time, he would not even have Lysithea to mess with. Tugging down on his earring, just enough to feel his skin begin to protest, he thought of her condition. Even though he was leaving her in good hands, he felt uneasy. He couldn’t help but feel on edge whenever he thought of her twin crests and those who might have a use for them. 

The truth was that Claude feared whoever matched him in ambition. Changing the world… Now, that was a goal with many paths. Some difficult and bloodless, others easy and violent, and then there were others that fell awkwardly onto a spectrum. 

Long ago, Claude had decided on a particular path, one of distrust, one that abandoned honor, but guarded lives. He wished to look upon a new world without regret— even if his idea of regret was different than those of the Fodlan people. If he had to lie or cheat or beg for his life, he would. He just refused to use blood to cleanse the country; he could not use methods that made people question whether or not his goals had been worth the price. And he trusted no one else of the same ambitions to think that way. Claude had no remorse when it came to using people like Lysithea, Byleth, and even Dimitri; he knew he could be careful enough to keep his heart, careful enough to never ever truly damage others in this process. 

But other people…

Claude found other people far more direct than he was. Most others didn’t look closely enough to see a third option; they protected what they loved and destroyed what they hated instead of taking what was there and simply… molding it a bit. 

The people of Almyra had scorned Claude. His siblings— rather, the numerous children his father had sired before marrying his mother— had called him names that they surely learned from adults behind closed doors. They hurt him and brewed up with dozens of flimsy excuses for themselves. All this had compelled Claude to journey to Fodlan only to find that things were no different. Still… he did not see how violence could solve violence. Revenge was always a cycle and never a conclusion. So, he had to scheme and pull whatever strings fell into his hands. After all, he intended to tear apart Fodlan, put it under new management— all without sacrifice. 

Sometimes, he wondered if he was naive. 

Glancing at Byleth as she ran her fingers over the lacy texture of her tights, he bit the inside of his cheek and wondered if… it would be okay to tell her everything… True, he had always been against that— for fear of relying on her as if she were his personal psychiatrist but also… he couldn’t bring himself to divulge his secrets. What would she think? That he was another Miklan? 

At that thought, Claude winced. He and Miklan… they both wanted to change Fodlan, to break the fetters of tradition… But they WERE different. From what Claude knew, Miklan’s greatest supporter growing up had been Sylvain. In a way, Sylvain was— or could have been— what Claude’s mother had been to him: the eye of a storm, a place where things stopped destructing. Claude couldn’t imagine forfeiting someone like that. He couldn’t imagine carving away all the good in his life for a shot at something better. There was no point in changing things if he couldn’t take what he loved with him. He wanted his mother to be there in the future. He wanted Byleth and Dimitri and Hilda and all his Deer and even Edelgard to be there! So… what was Miklan thinking? How could he be fulfilled with a victory that cost him what little he had. 

_Maybe the Almyrans weren’t entirely wrong,_ thought Claude. _Not everyone from Fodlan is a coward… But some are._

“Claude?”

When Hilda said his name, his chin shot up. He knew his expression must have grown intense, and he tried to force his eyes to clear up. 

“Hm? Yes?”

“Ah… Your face just looked upset for a moment.” She leaned against the side of the wagon, eyeing him. “Is it about leaving Lysithea and Marianne? I think they’ll be fine. Even in his condition, I’m sure Dimitri could still break a man in half. And Dedue’s there. The mansion is guarded.”

“I know that. I just had other stuff on my mind. Sorry about my face.”

He poked his cheekbone with a grin, causing Hilda to giggle. Her shoulders released some tension and fell.

“Besides,” Claude continued, “I don’t have a right to be fawned over right now.” He glanced towards Ingrid, Annette, Mercedes, and Ashe, all sitting together on one side of the wagon. Felix had taken the reins up front, declaring that he’d needed time alone. “How are you four doing?”

“We’re… fine,” said Ashe. He’d already fletched a dozen arrows so far on the trip and now looked up from the latest one, setting it gently on his knees. “Just… nervous? Once we get to this place… we’ll know.”

Claude could almost sense Ashe’s stomach rotate. 

“That sums it up,” agreed Annette, lacing her fingers. “It’s frightening.”

“I understand,” said Claude. He peered at Ingrid who had her head down. A few strands of blonde hair had fallen from her ponytail. Claude remembered that happening frequently during combat training; whenever she got a break, she’d tuck her lance beneath her arm and fix it. But now, she hardly seemed to notice. 

“Ingrid, would you like to ride up front with Felix?” Byleth said softly. “Tell him I told you to.”

Finally raising her head, Ingrid stared at Byleth. She hadn’t been crying, but somehow they looked pink and tired. She considered the offer, glanced towards Felix and then said,

“Yes. I’ll do that. Thank you.”

She stood and headed up to where Felix sat keeping control of the wagon. Her lips moved, but the words were drowned out by the sounds of hooves, wheels, and the bumps in the road. Felix turned to her and replied, voice also unintelligible.

Just a few days of this… They needed to leave Faerghus. The quickest way to Hyrm was by cutting through Leicester. He’d thought of that when writing his letter to Lorenz and had written an additional note to send to his grandfather, Duke Oswald, informing him that they would be in the area. Claude didn’t think the Alliance Leader would attempt to meet with them; he didn’t like Claude much. They got along professionally and Oswald had eventually sided with Judith, an Alliance hero and Claude’s mentor, in accepting Claude as the heir to Leicester. But Claude couldn’t forget the look on Oswald’s face the moment he’d shown his crest to the court. Claude still saw, as if it were tattooed onto the insides of his eyelids, the expression of horror that had curved Oswald's mouth. He’d known then that he needed to accept Claude, a bearer of the Star Dragon Sign, as his heir. But, in his heart, he hadn’t wanted to.

Claude butt heads with his grandfather almost as much as he did with Count Gloucester. Oswald wanted to change Claude, to make him understand Fodlan through his eyes, through the lens of tradition. But, though Claude had always hated that about his grandfather, he couldn’t exactly blame him. After all, Claude wished to change his grandfather too. They were both trying to win at the same game. Claude usually mentioned Oswald in his letters home. His mother agreed with many of his takes.

 _He’s just like you_ , she once wrote. _Court is indeed a game and you both play it very well._

Sovereign Duke Riegan was still managing his duties and ailing health back in Derdriu. Claude suspected that their group would not be bothered or summoned. Perhaps he needed to stop worrying… Things would be fine at the Gautier Estate, the Alliance Leader had been notified of their presence, and, soon, Byleth’s letter would reach Rhea and Claude’s would arrive in Lorenz’s hands. 

_Dearest Lorenz_ , Claude had started. He could almost hear his own falsetto through the ink. 

_Just touching base. We’re all okay. Lysithea and Dimitri sustained some nasty wounds, but they'll make it. We just received an anonymous tip about where the enemy’s base is— probably the Hyrm mountains— so we’re heading there. But, most importantly, we’ve learned a few things that might implicate the imperial princess in all of this. It’s nothing conclusive but enough to make me wonder if Edelgard is involved with those who attacked the margravate. Please, I need you to monitor the Eagles and tell NO ONE outside the Deer about this. Not Rhea, not your father. Nobody, Lorenz. Please, this is important. We can’t let this get out before we’re absolutely sure what’s going on. Listen just this once and I’ll owe you big time. Keep a cool head and one eye on Edelgard and Hubert. If you learn anything important, write back to Marianne or Lysithea at the Gautier Estate. I trust them to hold onto the letter for me. When we return Garreg Mach, we’ll all meet and go over everything in detail._

_That's about it! Tell Leonie, Ignatz, and Raphael hello!_

_\- Claude_

With a long breath, Claude tried to relax and lean back. From the corner of his eye, he saw Byleth watching him and tried not to give her a reason to worry. Closing his eyes, he decided to get some sleep. They had quite a way left to go

  
  


*****

“... And that concludes the report.”

Rhea folded Byleth’s letter into neat little quarters. For a minute, nobody spoke. Seteth rubbed his beard, his lips flattening as he thought. Flayn wrung her hands. Watching them carefully, Edelgard considered everything Rhea had told them, compartmentalizing it into a list.

_Dimitri and Lysithea are hurt, Claude and Professor Byleth are taking a group to Hyrm, and the Deer and Lions know about the crest experiments… Lysithea was…_

Resisting the urge to sit on the floor and hold her head in her hands, Edelgard thought about her, the last Ordelia child. Of course, she’d wondered if Lysithea was like her— many times she'd thought about it. That girl was a prodigy, almost impossibly powerful for her age. And that white hair… Yes, the answer had always been in the back of Edelgard’s mind. Now it had been confirmed. And she wondered if Lysithea had the same suspicions about her. 

All the letter had said was that Lysithea had once been captured by unidentified men and experimented on. That did not implicate the empire or Edelgard. The letter also did not mention white hair… It did not give enough information for Rhea to easily put two and two together... But Edelgard wondered if Claude, Byleth, and the others _had_ figured her out… They were too smart to not piece this together like a puzzle. But who had held back information? Lysithea or Byleth? This was giving Edelgard a headache… 

“Thank you for sharing this with us, Lady Rhea,” said Edelgard, stiffening up. “It sounds serious. Would you like us to meet them in Hyrm or stay here?”

“Stay,” said Rhea softly.

“Is that wise?” Seteth’s brow furrowed. “They’ve found the base of a particularly concerning foe. And it’s quite likely that this is a setup. Shouldn’t they have as much support as possible?”

“The professor is worth a battalion of knights,” said Rhea, still not raising her voice from a tender level. “They have the strength of the goddess. Besides… I regret that I…”

She cut herself off, but something seemed to be weighing on her, physically pushing her down.

_What does she regret… What did she do?_

Trying to keep her eyes from narrowing, Edelgard searched Rhea’s face for an answer. Had the archbishop interfered with this mission somehow?

“Besides,” Rhea went on. “I have already agreed to let Dimitri’s students and the professor handle this. Claude is a capable boy as well. I have faith in all of them.”

“Lady Rhea…” said Flayn. Then she turned to Edelgard and offered a low curtsy. “Forgive me, Edelgard. I do not mean to offend. But might my brother and I have a private audience with Lady Rhea?”

“By all means. I do not mind at all.”

_I was hoping to get out of here as well._

“Thank you, Edelgard.” Rhea offered a smile that boiled the princess’ insides. She bowed and hurried out of the room as fast as she could manage without looking impatient.  
  


Edelgard found Hubert immediately and repeated the meeting. As always, he was a superb listener and remained still until she had finished.

“So they believed my tip,” he said with a small smile.

“Yes. They’re off to Hyrm. I can’t thank you enough for doing that. Locating Shambhala… You’ve outdone yourself. Truly.”

“No need to offer me such praise. It was my job.” 

She wanted to say more to him, but settled on just affectionately touching his arm. The gesture softened his muscles slightly and Edelgard almost laughed. But one thought after another crept upon her like bandits, stealing away this moment and replacing it with more worries and things to do.

“If Claude and the Professor can destroy Those who Slither in the Dark, that could be good,” Edelgard said. “Then, we would only have the Church, Alliance, and Kingdom to deal with.”

“Lord Arundel… Thales’... death would be a blessing,” Hubert mentioned, tensing up again. “But are you sure you are all right with losing such valuable allies? They're offering us huge assets.”

“I’m mixed about it,” Edelgard admitted. “The best case scenario would be if the professor and Claude understood our cause and loaned us their strength.”

“And Dimitri?”

“He’s too stubborn.” Edelgard dropped her arm and squinted at the sun. “His ideas of justice are too platitudinous. The chance of Claude and Byleth ceding is merely unlikely. But Dimitri doing it… I cannot imagine.” As if possessed, her hands moved to her side and unhooked a dagger from her belt. She flattened her hand and let the blue sheath catch rays of light. “I have a feeling I got this from him… years ago. And he’d spouted a platitude then as well. Men like him are good. But naive.”

“Claude and Dimitri are not inclined to make the sacrifices that you are,” said Hubert. His yellow eye not hidden by thick, black hair watched the liquid shine of the sheath move across the surface slightly as Edelgard lowered it. “They want too much.”

“Yes. They want more than I do and, yet, I often feel that I expect too much of the world. They want to keep what they have and gain what they are missing. That is foolishness.”

“I agree.” Hubert signed. “By the way, Lorenz received a hawk late last evening. I can’t help but wonder if Claude is plotting something with him. He could know… about you.”

“That seems like it could be the case. Especially now that Lysithea’s secret is out. If they are able to take Sylvain back, they’ll learn even more.”

“And we led them right to him…”

“It was for the best. As I said, I would love to lose Thales and gain Byleth or Claude. Even If that fails, at least I made an attempt.”

Hubert nodded, understanding. “I trust your judgement on this. Thales, Cornelia, Miklan Gautier… all of them… They’re all black-hearted. I saw them, you know, when I found Shambhala. They were right outside with Sylvain. I believe that Miklan sensed me. He seemed to think he was being watched.”

“He sensed _you_?” Edelgard felt her mouth shape into a rigid “o.” She hadn’t asked Hubert for the details of his mission before, only interested in what he’d accomplished, before hurrying off to polish some plans. But this… was surprising. At times, Hubert seemed more like a shadow, as Claude liked to call him, than a human. If Miklan had noticed him, even with uncertainty… That showed a great spark of talent. 

“He has skills," said Hubert. "Ones that have nothing to do with crests or gods.”

“And that was not enough for House Gautier.” Hatred slipped into Edelgard’s tone and dissolved into it like a bitter pill. Miklan Gautier was a murderer. She knew that. But had House Gautier judged his heart or his blood? How _should_ people judge others? There had to be an objective way, one based on things that mattered. That’s what Edelgard had spent so long reaching for… And, really, could she despise Miklan? She was willing to kill for answers just as he was.

She wondered… If Miklan survived this raid… Should she try to meet with him? 

“We’ll discuss this more later,” said Edelgard. “Soon we’ll officially start this war. Let us use our time wisely until then. Keep an eye on Lorenz for me, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

An owl shot from its roost above Edelgard’s window into the darkening dusk skies. A white feather fluttered from his wings and landed in her flower box. Unlatching the window, she picked the feather off of the drooping plants, untended in the chaos of Edelgard’s piling tasks. She stared at the pale feather for a moment, remembering that an owl feather from Garreg Mach was supposedly good luck. Then she dropped it, letting it flutter to the stone below for someone else to find.

She hated staying here, just waiting to see how this would play out all while continuing to serve as a guard and enforcer for Rhea. But soon… that would end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind what I asked in the beginning notes!
> 
> Also it occurred to me... I have no idea where Jeralt is in this lol. In fairness to me, he was not brought up in Ashen Wolves either. I'll consider it or just not mention him ever.


	25. Beyond the Raid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who answered my questions! Sorry this chapter took a while. I don't like the pacing of it but, eventually, I kind of just shrugged and decided to post. I can always edit one or two things later.

“Let’s go.”

Felix surged forward only for Claude to catch him.

“Wait.”

Claude watched Felix scowl, his fingers gripping the hilt of his sword like a lifeline. Still, the young man never removed his gaze from the entrance before them, a dark archway hewn into the side of a cliff. Feeling him loosen up just slightly, Claude pulled his hand back and turned to face the others. After a long journey, one glazed over with unrest and anxiety, they’d reached the coordinates. Though they hadn’t been sent on a wild goose chase, Claude still considered the threat of ambush. They stood on enemy soil and, with that, came an enemy advantage. Even if this wasn’t a setup, they had to check for guards or traps at the very least...

“I don’t sense anyone. And— and if there were guards, the optimal places for them would be on top of the cliff sides, there and there. But I don’t see anything. Maybe they got complacent,” said Ashe, brow furrowing. Then he turned to the others almost apologetically. “Sorry… I… I used to do stuff like this a lot.”

“Don’t apologize.” Claude leaded towards him, placing his palm on a nearby tree as he did. “That’s right.. You used to be a thief. You met your adoptive father during a break-in, right?”

Ashe’s face turned red, eclipsing his freckles and making his eyes look like pale holly leaves. “I don’t condone stealing. I never did. But I had to!”

Byleth placed a hand on his shoulder. “We aren’t judging you,” she said. “Don’t worry. You're a good person. But that skill set of yours is useful now.”

Nodding, his skin tone fading once more, he said, “If the outside of the building doesn’t have guards, it usually means they have spells in place as alarms. Most of the time, they can be bypassed by avoiding certain key areas. It’s good to watch for changes in color or texture on the floor, for example.”

He looked down at his boots and ran a hand along his shoulder and arm.

“That’s our best advice,” said Ingrid. “Quite frankly, I don’t care how risky this is. If this is a trap, we’ll just have to beat it.”

“Right,” said Felix. “We just fight. And win.” He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. “I’m strong. A few dumb tricks from people in stupid masks won’t take me out.” Raising an eyebrow and glancing up, he asked, “What of the rest of you?”

“I’m ready!” Annette straightened, raising her hand just slightly as if she were in class. “I’ll be here to support all of you. And I won’t fall!”

“Me as well.” Mercedes nodded with conviction. “These people know nothing about the loyalty of those at Garreg Mach. If they understood that, they wouldn’t have left themselves so wide open.”

“You know… That could be it,” said Claude, tapping a thumb to his lips. “Maybe Miklan assumed that we wouldn’t pursue him if Sylvain was dead. Maybe that’s why he said what he did to Dimitri.”

“Miklan had every reason to lie,” said Hilda firmly. “And even if he didn’t… we’ve got to show him that we don’t give up on friends and family just like that.” She snapped to emphasize her point and said, “even I’m willing to put in some effort for Sylvain's sake.”

“Excellent.” Claude turned a final time to Byleth. She had one hand on her sword, and a familiar look on her face. It was the expression she’d been making the night he’d met her, when he and the others had implored the Jeralt Mercenaries for help. She’d rushed to their aid without hesitation, almost inhuman in the way that she judged a situation and fought. She didn’t waver or question. From that moment, Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard had all wanted her at their sides. They’d all understood what a valuable companion she’d be to a future ruler. She’d chosen Claude and he still didn’t quite understand why. Sometimes, he wished he could be more like Dimitri— He wished he could tell people what he wanted even if it meant ripping himself open and showing the entire world his thoughts. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that… all he could do was smile and joke and butter people up until they were willing to help him with things they didn’t even understand. But he knew from the beginning that Byleth had seen right through those methods… 

So why him?

Whatever the reason, he was eternally grateful. More and more, he began to consider the existence of gods because his luck seemed like… well, _more_ than luck. He didn’t quite know when luck turned into a miracle; he had no idea where that line was drawn, but Byleth had crossed it. 

“We’ve got Teach with us.” Claude chuckled. “That’s the best support we’re going to get. The rest is in our hands.”

With that, he turned towards that looming archway. And he grabbed his bow.   
  


The party followed Ashe’s instructions. They didn’t touch anything suspicious; they stayed away from buttons, strange lights, and unknown contraptions. As discussed, each of them kept a careful eye on the floor and walls. Several times, voices and footsteps formed like clouds of noise in the adjacent hallways, prompting them to reach for the cover of the shadows. Then the noise evaporated and they all continued forward. Finally, the group found a black staircase leading underground and took that. When they hit the basement, they saw that the hall forked. 

“Do we split up?” Ingrid asked Claude.

Hesitantly, he said,

“Yes… I don’t like it, but we can’t wander around down here for long. We should cover ground as quickly as we can.” He scanned the rest of his party. “Teach, take a group down the right hall. If the halls join, then we’ll meet again. If not, come back here after you’ve searched.” He glanced at the Lions. “I know Sylvain is a top priority, but make sure not to miss anything else of use.”

Byleth led Felix, Ingrid, and Mercedes while Claude took Ashe, Annette, and Hilda and, though wishing he could have thought harder about the best combinations for both teams, Claude didn’t mind that split. Besides, he didn’t think it would be the greatest idea to force Ingrid and Felix to separate; the two of them seemed too intent on seeing this investigation through together. 

*****

Something felt wrong to Miklan but he couldn’t place it. He sensed just a slight disturbance, an unfamiliar echo within Shambhala. 

“Are you all right?” Cornelia folded her hands before her and smiled at him. The frosty lighting cast shadows beneath her eyes. Miklan couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen her smile because she was truly happy; her grins always betrayed epicaricacy. But… Miklan couldn’t exactly call her out. He couldn’t condemn her for the same reasons that he couldn’t claim to love his brother. His actions didn’t support it. If he called her a sadist, the next words from her lips would be,

_“And what are you?”_

She was right. He couldn’t call his life over the past several years much other than sadism. In fact, before Philip and the others had died and before Sylvain had lost his crest… Miklan wore that sadism like a badge. 

_Let them see what this system creates. If they don’t like it, that’s on them._

But, lately, that goal felt withered and empty. Maybe he was just ten years too late… Because having a crest now didn’t make his family respect him. It made them hate him even more. And he’d realized...

“Sylvain hadn’t hated me back then,” he muttered out loud, forgetting about the odd feeling in the air. 

Cornelia raised an eyebrow.

“Worried about him again? My, you have baggage.”

He said nothing. She'd only pointed out the obvious— the issues with his family, the death of his friends, and how he prone he was to unhappiness. 

She took a seat and crossed her legs daintily, tapping her filed nails on a metal table at her right.

“We’re only pressuring you to let him die, because it’s for your own good. Sacrifice is needed.” She smirked. “For example, the reign of dragons wasn’t ALL bad. They fed us and blessed us, but that wasn’t enough. We couldn’t be happy under the thumbs of gods. Do you think you would have been happy if you’d just accepted your parent’s behavior?”

“No,” Miklan answered truthfully. And, while he was being truthful, he added, “But I do have some regrets.”

For no real reason, he wandered to the side and slid the Lance of Ruin off his back. His body had just wanted him to shift around a bit; pent up energy was building inside him.

“Pushing your brother away.” Cornelia nodded knowingly but without empathy. Miklan grit his teeth when he saw a trace of boredom in her eyes. “Well, that can’t be helped now. Life is linear. It builds on your choices in one direction until the end. You cannot turn around, repeat, or edit. You can only work with what you’ve got. And what you’ve got now is a dead father, a traumatized mother, a brother who hates you, and a crest.”

Miklan reached out his hand and the Crest of Gautier formed in his palm. The lance hummed and lit in unison with it. He watched the rune, an almost-completed circle with prongs and thorns, remembering nineteen years ago when he’d first seen it. Some people had come to the manor and taken Sylvain, just a tiny thing with thin wisps of fiery hair, and placed his hand to a contraption of theirs. Miklan had been young, not fully understanding of the situation, but he remembered his parents glowing with excitement the moment the crest had appeared before them.

 _He’d only just been born…_ Miklan remembered. 

_Those men had come the next day. His mother had still been weak and only watched from her four-poster bed. Her chest heaved with pride as she watched her husband clutch the new baby._

_Margrave Gautier knelt before Miklan, showing him the delicate person within his arms._

_“You’ve got a brother,” he’d said. “And he’s very special. You must help look after him as he grows, Miklan.”_

_For a reason he hadn’t been able to pinpoint, Miklan reached out. His father stiffened and held Sylvain close, watching Miklan with the eyes of a raptor. Even so, very gently, Miklan patted his brother’s face, still so soft and puffy with fat. Sylvain yawned, exposing bare gums, and then— just vaguely— he smiled._

That moment, like Miklan’s memory of carrot cake on his thirteenth birthday, was a pleasant one. Back then, he hadn’t felt the festering grip of hatred. He hadn’t understood the significance of the mark his brother bore or how that symbol would shape his life… 

Miklan closed his fist, forcing the crest to fade. 

_It could have been different…_

He’d been considering that a lot lately. If only Fate had cast her chips differently, Miklan wouldn’t have been a criminal and Sylvain wouldn’t have felt the need to dole out harsh lessons to nearly everyone who wanted to get close to him. 

“Don’t think that way,” Cornelia cautioned, as though reading his mind. “You’ll drive yourself mad. Besides, as I told you before, there’s no use thinking you can start being a good person now. You made your choice and you _continued_ to make it for years. Now, you better own it.”

Though he didn’t like her tone, Miklan could hardly argue. He needed to make everything worth it. But all his paths seemed so frustratingly solitary, dismal. 

“I’m going to talk to him again,” Miklan said, returning the lance to its sling. 

Cornelia shrugged. “If you wish. But he won’t change his mind. Even I understand that. The goddess, the archbishop, the Prince of Faerghus— they all inspire such suicidal loyalty.”

Miklan didn’t even answer. He left her, but could still feel the rhythm of her nails on metal. When he entered the hall he felt, once again, an abnormal echo. 

Something was wrong in Shambala…

*****

Claude and the others had a rough time avoiding the masked workers. Together, the four of them ducked into dark doorways whenever they could. But Claude wondered how long that luck would last. A couple of times, he swore these bird-faced goons had looked directly at them. But they only walked on. Claude’s heart could hardly take all this anxiety. And when, finally, they arrived in a hallway lined with latched doors… His heart started to do jumping jacks.

A prison block.

They all shared glances. Claude couldn’t fathom what Ashe and Annette might be feeling. The two of them had taken on darker expressions than Claude thought them capable of. 

“Are you two doing all right?” he asked. The words sounded trite somehow. Of course they weren’t ‘all right.’ The question was a formality and a way to nudge them forward.

“Yes,” said Ashe, he reached into his quiver and clutched an arrow so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Let’s hurry and check these. I can help with any locks.”

“Hmph,” Claude grinned weakly, trying to lighten things. “Stealth, lock-picking… you’re certainly knowledgeable. What would it take for you to transfer classes?”

Ashe laughed, more out of an obligation to meet Claude’s casual tone. “I’m flattered, but I like where I am.”

From there, the energy fell awkwardly and the four of them began checking doors. Many only had single, heavy latches which bound to the metal surface of the door, but one or two doors bore strange locks. Ashe could pick a few within seconds, but others only contained a single slit that he didn’t understand. For those doors, Hilda simply broke the whole lock off. Each time she did, Claude tensed, sure that they’d be betrayed by the thuds and clanks. 

Finally, they approached the last few doors. Ashe bent towards one and used a pin Hilda had given him to unalign the lock components. He rubbed his forehead with the inside of his elbow before undoing the latch. Gently, Claude reached over him and palmed the door open.

The room was dark, only lit when the synthetic hallway lights leaked into the black. Immediately, Claude smelled something rotten and vinegary. The odor permeated the room and formed a thick wall of stale, sour air. Upon stepping forward, Claude’s stomach lurched.

On the floor was the source of the stench: a large roll which someone had taken a few bites from and the metal tin which they’d subsequently vomited into. Beside the contaminated tin were an empty cup and a cup filled with a foreign sludge. And just beyond all that, bound with a chain to the obsidian wall…

“Sylvain,” said Annette in a warped, breathless whisper. 


	26. Beyond Star and Fissure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I went back through every single chapter and did heavy duty editing. I found so many embarrassing mistakes T.T But the old chapters are finally polished.
> 
> Mind the warning.

Ashe hurried to Annette’s side and then past her. She stared blankly into the dark for just a moment before his tailwind seemed to jolt her awake. Together, they knelt before the limp body of their friend. Even in the limited light, Claude could tell that Sylvain’s condition was appalling. The smell of vomit was already making him nauseous, but the sight of the three Lions together gave him painful, intrusive thoughts about his own house. 

_How would I feel if they’d done this to one of the Deer…_

The thought of Hilda or Ignatz or Lysithea or— any of them— alone in this prison, life sucked almost dry… made Claude sick and angry. Once again he hated Miklan Gautier, a man he’d never met. 

_How dare you? How could you?! Why would you offer this kind of sacrifice?_

Claude couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand why someone would transfer their own pain to someone who had done nothing wrong. That was not fixing the world, that was poking even more holes into it; Miklan had found companions in misery instead of solutions. Once, Claude had empathized with Miklan’s feelings all too well. But the path the eldest Gautier son had chosen to walk… had made Claude lose all sympathy for him. 

Ashe found Sylvain’s carotid artery and placed two fingers to it. 

“He’s alive,” he said, his tone between joy and horror. “B-but… He’s not responding.” Removing his hand, he said, “Sylvain! Sylvain, wake up!”

Annette shifted in closer and dug a vial of vulnerary from a pocket in her uniform skirt. She uncorked the lid with a “pop” and held it beneath Sylvain’s nose for a moment. Then, gently, she placed her fingertips beneath his chin and tilted his head back, drizzling the potion into his mouth. He made no motion to swallow and his head flopped gently to the side when she pulled away.

“Oh, Goddess…” said Hilda, suddenly. “His leg…”

Claude sucked his teeth when he saw it— a clear fracture near Sylvain’s knee. The leg bent impossibly, almost like a limb on a discarded marionette. In fact… that’s what Sylvain, with his motionless body bound with chains, looked like. An unloved marionette. 

“We’ve got to get him out of here,” said Claude. “Quickly. Ashe!”

Starting at the sound of his own name but understanding the command, Ashe got to work on the manacles. First, he clicked open the restraint on Sylvain’s wrists.Then, very sensitively, he worked on the ones at the ankles. He whimpered once upon glancing at the shattered leg, but kept his hand steady until the metal loop separated. Swallowing, he turned around and said,

“A-Annette, help put him on my back.”

As she began to move Sylvain, Hilda grabbed the doorframe and peered into the hall. Her body flinched with stress and Claude felt that same sense of anxiety. Now that they’d found Sylvain and confirmed his condition, Claude’s desire to win had increased tenfold. They couldn’t leave their friend here one moment more. Not with these people who’d sell their hearts and souls for what they wanted.

Standing, Ashe grimaced. 

“He’s light. H-he shouldn’t be this light.”

Briefly flitting his gaze towards the discarded food and copper tin, Claude said, “that’s not a good sign… He probably can’t hold much down anymore.”

Annette gripped the sides of her skirt, bunching up the fabric in her fists. “They’re evil. All these people are evil.”

“That’s why we need to go. Now,” said Hilda, her shiny pink nails digging into the door frame. “Besides, the sooner the others know he’s alive, the sooner they can stop panicking.”

“And get different things to panic about,” said Claude darkly. Then he smiled. “Eh, don’t mind me. Things will work as planned. Sylvain isn’t the type to just flop over and die. And now we’re here to help.”

Together, they stepped into the hallway. In the light, Claude saw a harsher picture of Sylvain’s condition. His skin was pale, dull, and patchy. Under his eyes were deep purplish circles which looked even worse when the bluish light hit his face. His hair had changed too; it was no longer well-kept or bold orange. Sections of it were now dirty and matted. Claude noted a leaf tangled in a tuff by Sylvain’s ear and wondered if he’d made it outside at some point. The color was now a much lighter shade of orange and patches of it were stark white, like how Dimitri had described Miklan. 

Annette couldn’t look at him— she kept her gaze forward-— and Ashe lowered his head as he walked, keeping Sylvain positioned as comfortably as possible on his back. But Claude and Hilda could hardly stop staring. The Alliance had taken prisoners before, Claude knew, ones from Almyra… And, though Claude didn’t approve of that (how could he?), he hadn’t stopped to seriously wonder about their treatment. He’d never considered that anyone in House Goneril would be so brutal but… maybe that was worth looking into. Perhaps, human prejudice was an even uglier beast than Claude had thought.

The group headed down the hall, eager to meet up with the other party. If they were lucky, this could all go down without any trouble. But, somehow, that hope seemed far too wistful to Claude and, what happened in the next moment, confirmed his suspicions.

Something attacked Hilda from behind. Only the sound of a sudden movement had alerted her in time. She spun, all her training steering her body, and her axe caught a blow meant for her spine. Gasping, she planted her feet firmly and flew backwards without entirely losing her balance. 

Drawing an arrow and notching his bow, Claude fixed his gaze on the assailant. 

He was a stocky man in his middle to late twenties. Because he was donning thick iron armor, he’d managed to impress Claude. 

_How did he sneak up on us like that?_ he wondered. 

But one thing Claude did understand, as he saw the man’s orange-and-white hair, was that he was finally meeting Miklan Gautier.

Miklan scowled at Hilda, his expression rippling the nasy scar across his face. He really did look like Sylvain, only he was much less handsome and much more eroded by life. 

“Who the hell are you? How—” 

Miklan tore his gaze from Hilda and saw Ashe for the first time. More importantly, he saw the person slumped over Ashe’s shoulders. With fury, Miklan raised his relic lance and swept the flat end. Hilda only managed to catch it with her axe before falling sideways.

“LET GO OF HIM. NOW!” roared Miklan, the whites of his eyes seemingly expanding as his pupils shrunk to pinpoints. 

“Why?!” Though normally a mild-mannered kid, Ashe had found a bout of courage, fueled by a fury rivaling Miklan’s own. “So you can torture him again?! You’re an animal! Worse than an animal!” 

“I’ll kill you all,” seethed Miklan. “I’ll kill you! You don’t understand what you’re doing…”

“Don’t we?” Claude pushed past Annette. “I think we do. You’re the one who’s gone insane.”

Miklan watched Claude and seemed to sense his authority. He hesitated and squinted before finally noticing the yellow insignia pinned to Claude’s cape. 

“The Golden Deer,” he said, blowing air from his nose. “You’re their leader?”

“Yep. That’s me. Future head of the Leicester Alliance.” Claude bowed at the shoulders with a smirk. “I was asked by the archbishop and the Prince of Faerghus to come after you, Miklan Gautier.”

Miklan shook his head, clicking his tongue at the sound of his name. “I have no quarrel with you. I don’t know what they said about me, but it doesn’t matter. This is not your fight.”

“Sure it is,” said Claude. “Maybe Faerghus is not my domain, but I can’t just ignore what’s happening here. This could all very well extend into my territory. In fact…”

Claude saw Lysithea in his mind. She sat in her bed, fingers splayed around double crests. He suddenly imagined her as very old because her life had been sliced so short. And for what? Justice? Why was she excluded from this “justice” Miklan sought for the world? Why was Sylvain excluded? “... it’s already begun to happen. Besides, I’d love to have His Royal Highness owe me a favor or two.” Watching Hilda rise to her feet, Claude said, “All of you. Get out of here. Get Sylvain to Mercedes. I’ll stay.”

“Hold on. You can’t.” Hilda’s voice hitched. 

“Now. I’ll be fine.”

 _I always have at least one trick in mind,_ he wanted to remind her. 

She opened her mouth for a moment before shutting it again with a firm nod. Then she took off down the hall, Ashe and Annette at her sides. 

“STOP!” Miklan started forward but Claude fired an arrow. The bandit saw the movement just in time and leaped back before it could nail him in the leg. Miklan stepped forward, pointing the Lance of Ruin. “Let me pass! I can kill a spoiled noble kid like you.”

“Spoiled,” Claude repeated the word with little inflection. He just needed to roll it off it’s tongue for a moment. It sounded so ridiculous that he couldn’t even laugh at it. He couldn’t even find offense at such an ignorant claim. Drawing another arrow, Claude said, “trust me. I’ve had to claw, bite, and argue for everything I have. And keeping it takes just as much effort.”

Miklan didn’t attack right away. His head tilted slightly.

“Wait… I was told about you…” 

“Hm?” Claude smiled, trying to draw out the conversation. The sooner the others reached Byleth, the sooner she’d come for him. He could hold off Miklan until the others united the group and rushed back to his side. The less time fighting, the better. Then… he might not even have to rely on his trump card. 

“All good things I hope? Heh… a naive hope, probably.”

“Depends on your definition of good and bad.” Miklan lowered his relic by just a fraction of an inch. “But I didn’t think it was bad. You’re not like other nobles. They hate you too.”

Claude saw where the conversation was going. Clearly, Miklan had heard a little bit about Leicester politics and how suddenly Claude’s existence had disturbed it. He was seeing what Claude had spent the whole journey thinking about.

“I’m going to stop you there,” said Claude, refusing to lower his own weapon. “We have similar circumstances and similarly selfish family members. But people are more than their circumstances. We are not the same. There comes a point where you can’t blame anyone else for your choices. You’re a man. Not a wind-up toy.”

“But you’re just a doormat.This is a system where people think they can take what belongs to you because you’re not perfect. I’ve heard that the Sovereign Duke and Count Gloucester treat you like you’re nothing. You know that they don’t deserve cooperation or kindness. They deserve to hurt. You know this.”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “Maybe they do. But I have the sense to know my grandfather and the count are not the people of Leicester. They aren’t my mother or my father who stayed by my side. You had no such sense. You couldn’t differentiate Sylvain from your father.” He watched Miklan grimace at this, but he didn’t stop. “I don’t want to punish anyone. I want to be better than them. Sitting around throwing temper tantrums is no less entitled than what your parents did. And it doesn’t change anything.”

Adjusting his lance again, Miklan said,

“Maybe we are different. My history with my family isn’t anything you could understand. I think you’re foolish, but I don’t wish for your head. For the last time, stay out of this.”

_You’re calling me foolish… How ironic._

That made Claude grin without any warmth. 

“I won’t. I don’t compromise with people like you.”

Miklan sighed; he made a pitying expression that looked off on such a severe face.

“So be it.”

He jabbed his relic forward and his crest activated. But Claude, anticipating the move, had already hopped back a couple feet. The Lance of Ruin left a glowing trail that Claude shot an arrow straight though. Miklan grunted as it hit his armor and bounced off harmlessly. Staying back, Claude drew another arrow.

_I just need to hit a gap before he gets closer._

Claude did have melee experience— Byleth had made sure of that. Close combat was one of her specialties and she sometimes arranged brawling sessions on weekends. Though he would have loathed extra work from any other professor, he usually looked forward to his training with Byleth. Besides just being his favorite professor, she also saw the areas where improvement made the biggest difference.

_“You’re a very strong sniper. But you’ll find yourself needing to fight directly someday. I can teach you some things that will make you seem better than you actually are,” she’d said. “People can’t hope to master every skill. But if you master a few then patch up your weak spots, you’ll be hard to take down”_

But, even with these tips and tricks, Claude didn’t want to get within Miklan’s striking distance if he could avoid it. The man was too bulky and had far too much skill with a lance. Keeping a sizable space between them, Claude started to circle Miklan with slow, long steps. He pulled his bowstring, searching for the best place to aim for. 

Suddenly, Miklan thrust his lance and his— Sylvain’s— crest activated. Thrown off by the large burst of power, Claude timed his dodge wrong and the Lance of Ruin clipped his shoulder. He kicked Miklan away and darted back. His sleeve had split and a laceration dripped blood down his arm. Almost without thinking, he fired an arrow, letting his own crest— a beautiful crescent moon glyph— alight as he did. The shot buried itself in Miklan’s arm and he cried out, almost dropping to a knee.

Keeping an eye on Claude, Miklan reached for the arrow. His breath staggered as he broke the shaft off and tried to regain a fighting position. As the light from his crest died, Claude felt the wound shrink into a scratch.

“Nice trick,” grumbled Miklan. Claude watched the place where the arrowhead was still lodged, smirking. Snapping the shaft like that would hardly help.

“It’s helpful.”

He decided not to explain how the Crest of Reigan could only help with shallow wounds or how it was impossible to use in quick succession. Instead, Claude reached for his quiver again and selected another arrow which he kept in his hand. He hadn’t made many and didn’t want to waste them. 

_Where is Teach…_

Claude hoped he hadn’t miscalculated. He knew Byleth; the moment she heard he was facing Miklan, she’d hurry to him. One of the reasons Claude used her as a back-up plan so often was because of her reliability. But, he supposed, he couldn’t predict others as well. If a hoard of those masked people had found her party… No, she’d still come running even so. She was on her way. 

“Hey!”

A voice from the end of the hall startled Claude. He sidestepped towards the wall so he could see both Miklan and the newcomer, a grunt in black robes and a beaked mask. Groaning, Claude shot and the man tried to protect himself with a burst of dark magic. The spell barely stopped the arrow and Claude sent two more. The mage managed to stop one with another bout of magic but the second hit him in the abdomen. He fell sideways in agony and Claude whirled, flipping his bow to catch a strike from Miklan.

At this point, Claude was working on instinct. He swept Miklan’s leg, causing him to stumble backwards. Miklan breathed heavily as he rose to his feet; he clutched his head with one hand and swallowed. Slowly, it dawned on him that something was wrong. His eyes flicked to the wound in his arm. Then he understood.

“What kind of poison was it?” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed again and he stared with desperation down the hall, where the others had taken Sylvain. 

“Nothing lethal.” Claude pat his quiver and the few remaining arrows bounced. “I don’t make fatal poisons. Fun fact: I concocted this stuff when I was figuring out the antidote for the venomous monsters _you_ created in Gautier. Your mother helped. Real nice lady.” 

In truth, Claude hadn’t picked up much on her personality. She’d been quiet, only speaking with him a few times before returning to her pestle and mortar. But he liked seeing how much his statement riled Miklan up. 

“You—”

_Whoosh_

A burst of dark magic hit the ground near Claude’s foot. Turning his head, he saw the enemy mage he’d hit raising a trembling arm. Claude hadn’t anticipated that the man would have the strength to move so even that misplaced strike had been impressive. The man collapsed once more, the curse his parting shot. 

Claude recovered quickly and turned back around.

Miklan was already right in front of him. Sweating profusely and staring with wide, feral eyes, he pulled back his relic lance.

And ran it straight through Claude’s heart.


	27. Beyond the Javelin of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you guys! It's weird that I seem to always post these at like 2:00 am.
> 
> Anyway, I'm kind of excited for these next few chapters! I have some stuff planned...

Byleth’s scream blasted through the corridor as Claude turned around to face Miklan. Though he’d fought by her side in countless battles, he’d never heard her shriek like that, like something was tearing her apart, ripping her sinew by sinew until she was little more than ribbons. She shot towards them. Before her, the Crest of Flames burned brighter than a bonfire. As Miklan spun from Claude to counter Byleth, his whole form tensed. He planted himself into the floor like a statue. In the next moment, Byleth slammed her feet into him, pounding through his defenses, and he crashed to the floor like a turret that had been toppled by a single catapult. Claude froze in shock as Byleth descended upon Miklan.

She hadn’t even drawn her sword; it stayed on her hip as if she’d forgotten its existence momentarily. Falling onto Miklan’s chest, she began to strike with her fists— again and again and again. A wet ‘ _ thud’  _ indicated that she’d broken Miklan’s nose and, when she raised her hand again, Claude saw blood on her knuckles. Though his expression was wild with terror, Miklan managed to summon his own crest as he abandoned his lance and used both hands to block his face. This only seemed to anger Byleth more and she punched even harder, slamming his hands back into his ruined nose. At some point she’d bitten her own lip and drawn blood which she spat at Miklan before continuing her assault. 

“What the hell?!”

A group of four more enemies entered upon the scene and, though their faces were covered, Claude could sense their shock. Their presence pulled Byleth from her rage and her eyes flit towards Claude in panic. Leaping off Miklan, she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the exit.

She tugged him along forcefully, stopping once to defend against a curse sent by one of the new enemies. At last, she seemed to recall her sword and drew it, scattering the black magic with a swing. Then, she nearly yanked Claude’s shoulder from his socket as she increased speed. After glancing behind them to see two of the pursuers stop to help Miklan and the fallen mage, Claude returned his attention to his professor.

“Teach…” He didn’t know what to ask her. Something had happened that compelled her to act so out of character and he wasn’t sure how to word his question. . 

She ran her tongue over her split lip, and her gaze kept flickering towards him, as if she were afraid he’d evaporate if she didn’t keep checking on him. 

At last, they spotted the others within the center of their own battle. Sylvain lay on the floor while Mercedes hunched over him, her hands glittering with holy light. Her ponytail fell over her shoulder as she leaned and gently grasped the sides of his sallow face, willing the glow to seep through his skin. Felix defended her from behind. He hit an assailant with his hilt before swinging his sword, hacking through layers of robes and flesh. The others helped the best they could, fighting off enemies emerging from the other corridors. 

“Professor! Claude!”

Annette was the first to notice them and shouted as she pushed back an onslaught with a blast of wind. 

“Where’s Miklan?” demanded Felix. 

“Teach beat the shit out of him!” Claude had meant for the statement to come across humorously, maybe draw a good laugh from someone, but his voice shook at the end.

“Retreat!” Byleth ordered. “Everyone out of here! Hurry!”

Claude tore his hand from Byleth’s fingers, whirled, and sniped one of the two mages that had followed them down the hall, hitting the man directly with one of the toxic arrows. He agreed with Byleth; they had what they’d come for and now the next task was to escape with their lives.

He felt Byleth grab him by the back of his collar and throw him in front of her; once again her eyes were wide and frantic. 

“Ahead of me! All of you!”   


They obeyed without a syllable of dissension. Felix scooped Sylvain up as they took off towards the stairs and Ingrid flanked him, using her lance to shove back an attacker. Once they’d all started up the stairs, Byleth turned and her crest flared. Her sword glowed and segmented.

_ Ruptured Sky… _

Claude couldn’t help but stall to watch. Byleth’s combat art was beautiful, at least in Claude’s perspective. He watched with admiration— and just a nip of envy— as she created a rapidly-lashing net of gold which tore up their pursuers and finally brought down the ceiling, barricading the staircase with heavy chunks of rock. 

Then she hurried up the stairs, once again pushing Claude forward.

“Please,” she begged through her teeth. “Quickly.” 

Together, they caught up to the others, made it back to the top floor, and headed for the light of the outdoors. Claude watched Felix’s pace increase the closer he got to the front entrance. He lowered his head to look at Sylvain who still, despite Mercedes’ white magic, had not stirred. 

As soon as his feet hit the dirt pathway outside, Claude’s adrenaline spiked higher. Freedom, victory— they were so close now that the dark labyrinth, Miklan Gautier, and the blue strings of light were behind them. The natural light of the sun burned Claude’s eyes, but also invigorated him. Just as they were about to head for the nearest ridge, Hilda shouted,

“Behind you!”   


Byleth and Claude spun, weapons drawn to see a pale man with pure white eyes warp onto the path. He frowned as he watched them and, when his gaze fell on Sylvain in Felix’s arms, he produced a disgusted noise from the back of his throat. Still, he made no hostile motions, no indication that he wished to engage with them. He simply held a hand up to the side of the mountain where the arched entrance of the hideaway stood like a gaping mouth. Then, he pointed a bit higher.

Above, the clouds parted and something hurled towards the cliff. 

“Teach!”

Claude let the word slip as he stared in horror. Whatever was coming towards them… It was getting larger and growing hotter and hotter. The only way Claude could think to describe it was as a lance, or a javelin, made out of seventy-five feet of light and metal. The man before them smirked and vanished, leaving behind nothing but a brief, violet afterimage.

But the rest of them had nowhere to go.

In that moment, Claude would not say his whole life flashed before his eyes, but his regrets did. He remembered crying to his mother when he was five-years-old, saying he didn’t want to be of mixed blood anymore— as if that was a wish one’s mother could grant. He remembered all the times he’d scared her and the day he’d set off towards Fodlan, believing that his life would change if he could just cross the throat. All his nights spend fretting over his future and all the days spent fighting for his seat in the council…

He didn’t want to die before all of that had amounted to something.

The others watched in equal horror, perhaps thinking of their own pasts or those they’d be leaving behind once this beam of light fell.

_ We’ll never return to Dimitri…  _ Claude thought.  _ He’ll lose nearly his entire house here. _ At least most of the Deer were far away. Claude wished he could send them a final apology.  _ I’m sorry Lysithea, Marianne… everyone. I really did… want to be with you a bit longer. _

Felix dropped to one knee, clutching Sylvain and preparing for impact. 

But, as if spurred, Byleth ran back towards the enemy base. 

“SOTHIS!” she screamed. “HELP ME!”

Then, she threw herself upwards.

In that moment, several magic circles, each with the Crest of Flames at their center, materialized around her forming a path up towards the sky. Byleth leaped from circle to circle straight for the monstrous javelin. She screamed and reached with both her hands before brilliant green flames burst from her body, swallowing her up. 

The beam of light struck Byleth and exploded, rocking the Hyrm Mountains and sending Claude to the ground. 

Claude clutched his ears as they rang. He waited on the dirt for the flames overhead to die, listening to a pitched whine in his skull. When the noise and light began to subside, he saw Byleth suspended in the air. Her skin had turned semi-translucent and something near her heart was glowing gold. Green flames still consumed her hair but, after a moment, even that light faded and Byleth’s magic circle vanished.

She plunged back towards the ground.

Hopping to his feet, Claude dashed forward and held out his arms, catching his professor before she could strike the dirt. 

For a moment, all went silent and he simply stared at her. Her skin had returned to normal but her hair was no longer dark blue. Now it reminded him of Rhea’s hair, a pale green color. Though her eyes were closed, her chest rose and fell with a proper rhythm. 

“Claude… is she…”

Hilda and the others had approached him, each of them displaying various signs of shock. Ashe’s bow slipped from his trembling hand and he bent to retrieve it. 

“She’s all right,” Claude told them. He held Byleth close to his chest and, for once, he offered a short, silent prayer of thanksgiving to the Goddess of Fodlan. 

At last, they were all out of the woods.

  
  


Hilda hadn’t complained when Claude told her to take control of the wagon. She understood how much the Lions wanted to stay by Sylvain’s side. They’d laid both him and Byleth on extra tarps on the floor.

Mercedes had worked for hours, imbuing the two of them with white magic and, yet, neither of them stirred. Still, Claude firmly believed that the worst was behind them. After a while, Sylvain began to look a bit less like a corpse— even if he hadn’t fully recovered. He was far from healthy, but he’d stepped away from death’s door. 

“They’re both going to make it,” said Mercedes quietly. She rubbed the corner of her eye. “They’re... they’re going to live.”

His voice cracked and her mouth quivered. Then fat tears rolled down her face. 

“Mercie, t-thank you.” Ingrid rubbed her own eyes as they glittered.

Next, Ashe was infected by the mood. He lowered his head and bawled, fighting for breaths as he did. Annette followed and even Felix and Claude couldn’t stop from sniffling a little. The lifted danger gave them all such a strong gratitude that it was difficult to keep their emotions in check. They’d overcome, but they couldn’t ignore everything they’d nearly lost or the knowledge of how hard-earned their victory had been. 

Ingrid dropped to the floor next to Sylvain and gently rubbed his temple with the side of her hand, brushing away snarled hair. Claude knew she’d grown up with Sylvain, but the significance of that hadn’t hit him until then. She’d lost someone so precious to her and, after more than a month of fear, found him again. 

Claude spoke quietly.

“I’m relieved we have him back. And Teach…” He took her hand, feeling its warmth. His heart fluttered a bit and, for a moment, he was worried the others could tell. “Stopping that thing should have wounded her at least a little. I’m so happy she’s unharmed… but I don’t know what to think.”

“What she said…” Mercedes wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It gave me shivers.”

Claude tried to remember.

“She said a name, right? Sothis, I think?” It sounded so familiar to him. He was sure he’d read it somewhere.

Mercedes held a finger to her lips.

“Those outside the clergy shouldn’t say it out loud. It’s extremely holy. It’s… the true name of the goddess.”

_ The goddess? Maybe… is it no accident that she looks like Rhea now?  _ Claude wondered.

“How would she know that?” Claude asked. “I mean, no offense to her or anything, but she’s not the most informed. My house had to explain half of Fodlan to her. Before working at Garreg Mach, her knowledge was limited to whatever Jeralt cared to explain to her.”

“It kind of sounded like a prayer,” pointed out Ashe with a voice still thick from crying. Then he frowned and revised his statement. “No… It was too direct.”

“We should ask her,” said Annette, “when she comes to. Do you think she’ll tell us what happened? I mean, she’ll have to, right? Look how different she looks. Like— like a saint!”

Claude hoped Annette was right, that Byleth wouldn’t hide anything from him. He’d seen a different side of her on this mission, from the raw emotion she’d exhibited while attacking Miklan to her godlike final defense. 

“We have a lot to learn,” he said at last, “from Teach and Sylvain.”

His statement made them all fall silent, once again grateful… but also unsure as to what the next few days might bring.

*****

“We’re abandoning this place!”

Cornelia flew towards Miklan as he pulled himself from the ground, grabbing the Lance of Ruin. He felt so sick. Only once had he’d ever had food poisoning. When he was twenty, he’d gotten it. That had been around the time his relationship with his family had really begun to fray down to its final threads. Still, his mother had insisted he try to stay in his room, and she periodically came in with soup and a glass of ginger tonic. Now, he felt just as he had then, nauseous and exhausted. The mage Claude had shot was now dead, likely more from his wound than the poison— at least, Miklan hoped that was the case. He didn’t think Claude had been lying when he said the poison wasn’t lethal… but Miklan couldn’t tell for sure.

The two Agarthans who’d tried to help him had ended up chasing after Claude and the professor shortly after, leaving Miklan alone, suffering from his busted nose and the poison in his veins. For once, he was thrilled to see Cornelia. But her words confused him. 

“What? Why?”

Miklan’s voice came out nasally and it reminded him of how Kronya’s had sounded after Dimitri had snapped her nose. 

“Those Garreg Mach brats will likely escape,” said Cornelia, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. “We cannot just leave this place to be raided again. There are too many secrets here.” Then a smirk crept onto her lips. “They won’t make it far, though. That’s the good thing about destroying Shambhala. Come!”

Before he could ask her to explain, she grabbed his wrist and warped, taking him along.

Miklan’s feet hit marble flooring. A few droplets of blood from his nose splattered onto the ground.

“How did that happen, anyway?” Cornelia giggled. “Your face looks horrible. Look.”

She pulled a compact mirror from out of her sleeve and held it up to him. 

Though Miklan didn’t seem like the type, in truth, he had always been a bit self conscious about his looks. As Sylvain got older, Miklan’s troubles only grew worse. Hearing about his brother’s crest constantly hurt enough, but constantly having to hear about how handsome he was added salt to the wound. After receiving his scar, a lot of Miklan’s self-consciousness actually eased up a bit. After all, his face was far beyond ever being presentable at that point. But now… when he saw what the professor had done to him, his embarrassment came back.

His nose was crooked and swelling at the bridge. The blood splattered across his face couldn’t hide the purple splotches and lumps all over his cheeks and forehead. His lower lip was bulging and he thought one of his teeth may have chipped, but he didn’t want to check. Miklan batted the mirror away, unable to get mad at her. His stomach was aching too much to even yell.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. Nothing some white magic can’t fix up,” said Cornelia. “Who did that to you?”

“That bitch,” he told her. “The professor.”

“My, my…” was all Cornelia could say.

“You!”

Miklan jumped as a young woman stomped down the hall towards them, a black-haired man close in tow. The girl’s face was contorted with rage; she looked as though she were trying to kill them both with just her amethyst eyes. She stopped before them, flipping long, powder-white hair behind her shoulder.

“I’ve told you never to come here!” she roared. “You’re lucky I wasn’t in class when Solon found me! You must leave now, Cornelia. Both you and…” 

She trailed off when she saw Miklan.

“Princess Edelgard,” said Cornelia silkily, “this is Miklan Gautier.”

_ She’s the princess?! _

Stepping back, Miklan pressed his palm to his face, feeling even more horrified by his looks than before. He didn’t even know why he was so concerned— he’d quit caring what nobles thought of him long ago. But something about Edelgard made him feel mortified to show up looking this way. The princess herself didn’t seem to mind though. The moment Cornelia had introduced him, a little of the fire in her gaze cooled and she viewed Miklan with some interest. 

“You’re Miklan Gautier…” she said under her breath, talking more to herself than to him. Then she spoke louder. “I see. Hubert, take him to get healed. Oh— and some new clothes and armor are in order.” She looked him up and down. “You stick out terribly here.”

“Where's here?” Miklan asked before he could stop himself. Goddess, he hated how his voice sounded. 

She crossed her arms. “The Imperial Palace at Enbarr. It was supposed to be off limits to the Agarthans. I have agreed to work with you, not let you make use of my home.” She shook her head. “But I will be speaking to you about that, Cornelia. Arundel and Tomas as well. We’ll go up to the war room. Bring Miklan up when you’re finished, Hubert.”

“Yes, Lady Edelgard.” The man with the dark hair bowed and stepped forward. He led Miklan away as the women headed towards a winding staircase.


	28. Beyond Eye to Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun! It's a lot of dialogue, but that's a nice change of pace. :)

First, Hubert guided Miklan to a spacious, cherry wood bedroom with frosted windows and said, 

“Wash your face in the bathroom. There are some potions in the cabinets that will help. I’ll return shortly. Do not leave.”

The way he said those final three words terrified Miklan. Hubert’s whole aura unnerved him, permeated him with anxiety. The retainer’s stare told Miklan, wordlessly, that he would not just kill him if he screwed up— he’d uninvent him, every trace. 

_Don’t leave the room. Got it._

After Hubert left, Miklan did as instructed and found the basin and tap. He splashed his face and watched the water turn pale red. It took him one bottle of elixir and one of vulnerary to stop the bleeding and tone down the swelling and bruises. He even found a jar of some all-purpose antidote to ease away the effects of the poisoned arrowhead. His nose remained smashed. Frowning into the mirror, Miklan thought about the Agarthan elixir which had healed his— and Sylvain’s— broken ribs. Fodlan was truly behind the curve when it came to potions. 

When he’d finished, Miklan stepped back into the bedroom and waited on the opulent carpet, following the gold and red patterns with his gaze. After fifteen minutes, Hubert returned with clothing draped over one arm. He clutched bronze armor in his other hand. 

“Here,” he said. Then he raised an eyebrow. “Go change, but leave your old armor here. I hope it is not sentimental. I’m throwing it away.” 

Miklan shook his head. True, he’d had this armor for many years, years he’d spent with Philip and the others. But he’d never been one for getting hung up over objects. After passing the armor to Hubert, he returned to the restroom and changed into the black trousers and the buttercream-colored button-up he’d been given. Next, he strapped on the bronze armor. It was a different style than he was used to, but he liked it. The plates were sturdy, and yet they still felt lighter than his old armor. He grabbed the Lance of Ruin from the bed just as Hubert returned again, dusting off his hands.

“I have something to ask you," said Miklan

Hubert raised a thin— thinner than a line of ink— brow. 

“Then ask. But do not count on an answer.”

“Er… right.” Miklan ran a hand through his hair. “I was wondering about Princess Edelgard. If she’s royalty, then why is she helping the Agarthans?”

“Nobles suffer under the Seiros tenets too,” said Hubert. “You are technically a noble, are you not?”

With difficulty, Miklan blew air through his nose. “I don’t think about myself that way.”

“That is probably for the best.” Hubert paced around Miklan, clasping his hands behind his back. “I am also of the aristocracy. But I only have interest in my liege’s wellbeing. Anything I can do to increase her power, I will. And I shall carry out any order, just as she orders it. Unless…” Hubert halted and his stare made Miklan feel as though he were withering. “I believe her order is not within her own best interests. My lady is a bit curious about you and how you’ve come to align yourself with Those Who Slither in the Dark. But that will not stop me from disposing of you the moment I believe you pose her any threat.”

“Noted.” Miklan said, trying to keep his posture straight. “I don’t intend to betray her. Honestly, I already know I prefer her to Cornelia and the others.”

Hubert blinked with slight surprise. He chuckled. “That didn’t take long. But I understand. They are a difficult lot to work with.” He walked over to the double doors and pushed them open. “Let us go. You still need someone to look at your wounds. And we’ve kept her waiting with those cretins long enough.”

After getting help from a cleric who finished healing Miklan’s face, they arrived at the council room. Edelgard sat at a long, mahogany conference table, speaking bitterly to Cornelia and two men Miklan didn’t recognize at first. One was a man with long brunette hair and the other was older, kinder looking. 

“...Thales… Solon?”

Miklan addressed them with a tentative dip in his voice, but he was fairly certain he was correct. Afterall, he’d heard them discuss having other forms before. And, from the way Edelgard was glaring, he was certain the men were Agarthans. 

The brunette man nodded.

“Yes. These are just… some alternate forms. Our appearances draw too much attention. Call us Lord Arundel and Tomas when we look this way.”

Miklan shrugged and took a seat. He wanted to look at Edelgard more closely, size her up and try to glean more about her personality, but he was afraid he’d be caught staring so he forced himself to shift his eyes around from person to person as they spoke.

“Welcome. Miklan. Hubert.” The princess nodded politely. She seemed icy to Miklan, but he didn’t sense the same cruelty in her that he did in the Agarthans. She had a drive, perhaps an unempathetic one, but no true lust for violence. “We were just discussing the loss of the Agarthan base. According to some reports, the tremor was even felt here in Enbarr. Thankfully, the citizens believe it was nothing more than a short earthquake.” She waved her hand flippantly before lacing her gloved fingers and turning back to Arundel. “So. The Deer and Lions there. Did they live or die?”

Her tone didn’t betray which she’d prefer. She kept her professional posture, but Miklan leaned in. Strangely, he didn’t know which _he_ preferred either. Of course he’d love it— celebrate it even— if that professor had perished along with all her uppity students… But his brother… Miklan didn’t know how he felt about that. Part of him, in his frustration, didn’t care. He’d rather have Sylvain die than have to watch those holier-than-thou nobles win. The thought of them returning home in triumph made Miklan want to split the council table in half. And yet… Well, Cornelia had pegged him when she said he’d have trouble letting go, that he might get bored. If Sylvain died and the Gautier line finally ended… Miklan wouldn’t know what to do with his life. He wouldn’t know how to move on from the past.

 _It doesn’t matter then_ , Miklan thought. _Whatever happened… is good._

“They all lived.” 

Miklan swallowed and stared down at his scarred hands, processing that.

Strangely, Arundel was smiling. He placed a metal box with various runes on the table, watching it with excited eyes. 

“We saw the feedback,” Tomas told them. “It was… bad news for us.”

“But interesting,” Arundel interjected. “Here. Watch.”

He passed his hand over the box and the runes lit a bright yellow that grew brighter until it was projecting an image. The details sharpened until Miklan understood what he was looking at—- the area outside of Shambala. There, Byleth and Claude stood, staring up at the sky in shock as a weapon hurled towards them. Behind them, the Lions, and that pink-haired girl Miklan didn’t recognize, backed up slightly before realizing that that was futile, that they had nowhere to go. Felix, clutching Sylvain, knelt to the ground. 

Next the projection showed Byleth screaming as she tore away from Claude’s side and charged the plunging beam. The professor leapt up, seemingly catching fire as she used a series of glyphs to climb towards the sky. She met the beam mid-air and the explosion that followed rattled even the projection itself. 

Edelgard gripped the table. For a moment, Miklan wondered if she’d paled even further. But she began to relax as the image settled and showed Byleth, still suspended in the sky. At last, the glyph beneath the professor’s boots faded and she plummeted towards Claude who’d raced to catch her. 

Cornelia stood, mouth agape. 

“How?!” she demanded. “Those missiles— those were designed to fight _dragons_! Gods!”

Arundel swiped his hand over the image. Time within the projection turned back until he tapped a spot. He pinched his fingers together and flicked them out, causing the image to zoom in. It rested on a suspended Byleth whose skin had grown semi-translucent. Within her chest was what looked like a stone… and a crest…

“She has a crest stone inside of her?” Miklan couldn’t rationalize that. “How does that work? Wouldn’t she have turned into a monster?”

Arundel smirked. “Typically. Unless this was a controlled experiment.” He snatched the cube and the runes darkened, destroying the projection. “I think the archbishop had a special hand in this. Ah, and it makes sense, does it not? The professor bears the crest of the Fell Star and can use her sword without a stone. But the truth is that the stone had been with her all along.” 

Edelgard lowered her head. “That woman…” Her voice was husky. “She did something like this… to Professor Byleth…”

Cornelia performed one thunderous clap. “To think such people exist within the Church! This will certainly be a grand war! Fodlan will be reduced to cinders before it ever ends!” She grinned wildly at Miklan. “Getting utterly humiliated by this woman— don’t you feel less upset about that now!? This is what she’s capable of!”

“SHUT UP!” Edelgard yelled before Miklan could. She slammed her palms onto the table and stood. “Fodlan? To cinders?! Why does that make you so happy? What is the point of a nation of no people?! Some die for Fodlan’s new dawn— I understand that! I understand we must sacrifice others for the sake of the empire! But why are you so eager to fight Byleth?! Why…” 

She brought herself under control and straightened her back. Once again, she returned to her arctic demeanor. 

“Do not fret, Lady Edelgard,” said Hubert, quickly. He seemed to read something else in her expression. “Our preparations will be enough…”

Edelgard sighed. “Yes. Yes, you’re correct. We always knew what we were up against.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “In any case, it’s likely that the Blue Lions and the Golden Deer will stay in the Gautier Margraviate until the wounded have recovered. I propose that we launch our attack in one month. That will give Garreg Mach very little time to organize.”

“I have no objections. However…” Arundel narrowed his eyes. “Because we were forced to destroy Shambhala, we must have a new base of operations. It will be temporary. The Agarthans have other, smaller locations which may be utilized. But for now…”

Edelgard’s face turned red. “You know why I do not want you to work from here.” 

“Oh, darling…” Cornelia tapped a finger to her cheekbone. “The past is the past. We know there was some bad blood…” She snickered. “But you’ve become strong and, soon, you will achieve all your goals. You must thank us for that. And, as Arundel said, it will be but a week or two.” 

Wetting her lips, Edelgard fell into thought. Miklan wondered what past Cornelia was referring to, but whatever it was had given Edelgard a pensive expression, one where rage lurked just beneath— as though under the unbroken surface of a pond. Turning to Hubert, Miklan tried to get some scrap of information. But Edelgard’s retainer was as stony as usual.

“Just until the strike on Garreg Mach,” said Edelgard at last. Her voice lost its strength for just a moment. “But I ask you to watch your steps. And do not bother my father. I have already spoken to him about a coronation. He will step down soon.”

_The Emperor Ionius… is stepping down?_

Miklan felt as though he’d overheard a grim secret, one not meant for his ears. But nevertheless, he was pleased that he _had_ heard it, that Edelgard seemed unconcerned with his presence and did not skirt around topics with a condescending cadence. And, while he was considering this, she spoke to him directly, making him jolt.

“Miklan. Stay here for a moment. You as well, Hubert. The rest of you should head down to the dungeons and set up.”

The Agarthans had no objections. They filed out. Arundel was the last to leave and, before he did, he grasped the doorframe and paused. When he turned, Miklan saw a vein in his forehead protrude slightly as he fell into thought.

“Lady Edelgard,” he said. “Seeing that you are a student at Garreg Mach… it seems a bit odd that you would have not known about the attack on Shambhala. I hope you had nothing to do with that.”

Edelgard answered swiftly. “I am not privy to every message that Prince Dimitri sends to the archbishop. And that woman has been keeping my class busy with monastery security. Believe me, I would have contacted you if I had heard.”

Arundel tapped two fingers on the dark wood of the frame. Then he left, following Tomas and Cornelia without another word.

The following silence unnerved Miklan so he said, 

“There are dungeons beneath the Enbarr palace?”

Edelgard nodded, breaking her long stare at Arundel’s back. “They were built for high profile prisoners during Faerghus’ rebellion. But, obviously, that was a long time ago. Now, enemies of Adrestia are kept in our main prison and the public has all but forgotten about the dungeons within the castle.” She took a seat back at the table. “But we once again have use for them, it seems.”

Miklan considered sitting across from her but opted to stay standing.

“Why have you told me so much?” he asked. “You just let me in on information that could ruin you if it leaked.”

At this, Edelgard smiled just slightly, just enough to let Miklan know he could relax.

“In situations where both people are horribly untrusting…” she said. “Somebody must decide to take a risk. Or else we cannot move forward. Besides, you stuck with the Agarthans all this time… I think you’d keep quiet for me.”

From the corner of his eye, Miklan saw Hubert flex his fingers and curl violet light around them. He understood the warning as if it had been verbal. He frowned, but the threat didn’t bother him like it normally would. He truly didn’t want to make enemies of these two… He was just as interested in Edelgard as she was in him. And he understood the tension, the reason for the standoff, and decided that Edelgard was right. She had made the first move; she’d been the first one to show an olive branch. And Miklan respected that.

“I’ll keep your secrets,” he told her. “I can’t go back. Even if I betrayed you to the Church, they wouldn’t let me walk free.”

“Of course they wouldn’t.” Edelgard pursed her lips. “They create monsters and then put them down. They’re no different from the Agarthans, really. Tell me, Miklan…” At last, she noticed that he was still standing and gestured to the seat across from her. With a curt nod he took it. 

“What is the truth about the Gautier family?” she went on. “I admit that I am not up to speed on Faerghus’ politics or scandals. But, shortly after the Lions were deployed, I did hear about your history with Sylvain. I want to hear from your own mouth what happened.”

Miklan blinked, partially taken aback and partially wanting to withdraw, to keep his feelings on the matter to himself. But… his heart pattered. Nobody had ever asked for his take on what had happened before. Nobles didn’t value his viewpoint and his gang had always been too anxious to ask; so he’d told them unprompted. Could he really pass up this opportunity? 

“My family were all two-faced fools,” he said gruffly. “They led me to believe that I had things, that I deserved them. When Sylvain was born, that all changed and I had no say in it. To them, nothing I could do was worth a crest. _I_ wasn’t even worth a crest to them. So I acted out. And I was thrown out.”

Edelgard’s smile dropped and her brows curved upwards at the ends. 

“How cold,” she said. “That is close to what I had heard. That story is not an uncommon one. Fodlan culture does not care for human beings. It cares for meaningless tokens of a silent goddess. Miklan, that is exactly what I want to tear apart.” She extended a hand and pointed towards his hair. Her gaze fell briefly on the Lance of Ruin which he still clutched. “You suffered under one of their experiments, did you not?”

He placed a hand on his head, where he thought a white patch was. “Yes… for the crest.”

At this, her expression turned visibly melancholic. “You felt pushed to those extremes…” Then the melancholy burned out. “And you dragged your brother down with you. That was the point of his abduction.”

Miklan tried not to look at Hubert. He was sure that the man could sense his liege’s displeasure. 

“Yes.” Miklan scowled. “Yes, I had the Agarthans give me his crest. He almost died because of that too. But I wouldn’t have had to do it… if my mother and father hadn’t acted like he was more worthy of love than I was!!”

Hubert stepped forward as soon as Miklan’s voice rose, and Edelgard waved him off with a click of her tongue.

“I sympathize. As I said before, the Church creates monsters. Nobles do too. But I intend to put a stake in that. If I win this war, it will mean that I take control of the kingdom and the alliance as well as my own territory. I will strip the Church of Seiros of all power. Once Fodlan is a blank slate, then strength— not arbitrary blessings— will be rewarded. And what happened to you will never happen again.”

Miklan relaxed a bit, intrigued by this dream of hers, but concerned about the slight open-endedness of her voice… as if she were about to say the word “but.”

“You want something from me?” he guessed.

She nodded. “You cannot go needlessly punishing other victims of the crests. Those with crests may still be victims. It sounds like you were the monster the Faerghus nobility created. And your brother was prey.”

“Do you even know him?” asked Miklan, though he felt his voice weakening. “He was spoiled rotten. He’s narcissistic and pretentious. And he spends his time foolishly…”

“I’m aware,” said Edelgard firmly. Her nose wrinkled. “His conduct at school was unpleasant. But I do not believe he deserved punishment for your parents’ actions.” She extended her hand to him. “If you are to work within the Imperial army, as I propose, then you must let go of the past and move forward. The crests are meaningless and the Agarthans are wrong to try to harness them. And you were wrong to take part in it. That envy of yours only further ruined you and your family.”

Miklan stared at her fingers, concealed by a pale glove. Letting go should have been simple. He had a crest now. His jealousy should have evaporated on the Agarthan operating table… But he understood Edelgard’s request. She wanted him to lose the value he’d placed on crests over the years or, at the very least, chip away at it.

With resolve, he grasped her hand. It was tiny within his, but her grip was strong.

“Are you certain you won’t regret this?” he said with a rough little laugh. “I am a bandit. There’s nothing honorable about me.”

She withdrew her hand, but not in disgust. Her gaze was soft.

“I’ve accepted lost souls as my generals before,” she told him. “In fact… Hm, you may like Jeritza. You two will meet soon enough.”

“Eh… general?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I’ve been needing another one. And, frankly, your story wasn’t the only thing that caught my attention. Hubert is my best spy and he said you noticed him. He was at Shambhala and saw you, Sylvain, and the Agarthans outside.”

At first, Miklan couldn’t recall when he’d seen Hubert. In fact, he was certain he would have remembered such a macabre-looking man. Then, he remembered. He’d picked up on a presence that hadn’t quite belonged.

“That was Hubert?” he muttered. His eyes widened as he understood the implications of that. “Then you did have something to do with the fall of Shambhala!” Miklan felt a fresh bubble of anger burst in his chest. Had she guided the Garreg Mach students there? Was she the reason he’d ended up with an arrow in his side and a busted up face? Was she the reason the Lions had taken Sylvain back?

Edelgard saw his anger; her eyes flicked to Hubert briefly and she said, “Peace. It was necessary. I work with the Agarthans, but I do not like them. When all this is said and done, I will dispose of them.” She bit her lip and said. “You may think me thoughtless, but I acted on the small hope that the professor, and perhaps Claude, might see my good intentions. I want to distance myself from such irredeemable acts of violence. I am not expecting anyone at Garreg Mach to lend us their strength. But I want it to be possible.” 

Something about her tone resonated with Miklan. She sounded bitter, but there was a splinter of conflict there… like she was willing to mow down whoever she needed to, but it did not please her. For a moment, Miklan couldn’t help but see her as similar to him, back when he was resisting the Agarthan’s advice to kill his brother. He’d known Sylvain’s death would benefit him, but he’d felt that same uncomfortable sensation in the back of his brain.

“Do you have a history with the professor and Claude von Riegan?” he wondered. “Were you friends?”

She shrugged. “We were amiable. Not particularly close. The professor is respectable and wise. Claude can be immature and difficult to read, but he is a talented tactician. And I sense that he has the same grievances with Fodlan that we do.”

“I thought that too.” Miklan crossed his arms with a scowl, remembering his conversation with Claude and the smooth way he’d brushed him off. “But he claimed to be different.”

“So be it then. I’ve tried to get rid of him before. Besides, accepting a role as a leader means being prepared to be your territory’s lynchpin. It means accepting the burden of always having a target on your head. Claude knew that when he became heir to the alliance.” 

“I see… And what about Prince Dimitri?” 

Edelgard narrowed her eyes. “He is not a bad man. But he’s blind to the actions of the Church. He is the type to believe far too much in false concepts of justice and honor, the kinds the Church teaches just to keep people in their pocket.”

Miklan couldn’t help but grin. Edelgard was seeming more and more like somebody he could work with. She wasn’t as patronizing than the Agarthans and she lacked the holy attitude many nobles had. He felt as though, for the first time since his crew had died, someone saw him. 

“Well then.” She bunched her hair into a ponytail then let it fall down her back. “You’ll be laying low in Enbarr for now. Let’s get you settled.”


	29. Beyond the Goddess' Avatar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot second! I promise I'm still alive. The past week has just been really hectic for me and my family. We're moving and people have just been in and out of the house. This chapter is pretty chill. But I hope you enjoy anyway!

Byleth woke up when they reached Ordelia territory. Of course, everyone had questions. But they could tell from the forward slant of her shoulders and the way she kept her bright eyes on the wagon’s floor that she needed some time to comb through her own thoughts. Claude decided that they should stop in the first town they came to and stretch out their legs, get food, and do any other business. Felix and Ingrid insisted on staying in the wagon with Sylvain who still hadn’t stirred. He lay on the canvas, chest rising and falling with an even tempo. The sunlight made the snowy streaks in his hair shimer, but also spotlighted the rings around his eyes, the bruises on his arms, and the pits beneath his cheekbones. 

Ashe, Annette, Hilda, and Mercedes promised to pick up snacks for the group and wandered off to a tavern together. But Claude clung to Byleth’s side. He couldn’t place his finger on how he knew… but he understood that she wanted to isolate him, to talk. Together, they wandered to a pond on the edge of town. Claude picked a cattail and messed with it, scratching at the fibers with his nails. 

“What happened back there?” he said at last. “When you found Miklan and me, you weren’t yourself.”

Byleth winced, and Claude felt his face give away some surprise. Thankfully, her eyes were watching her boots. He stared at her, still unsure of how to view her changed appearance. He’d never believed in the religion of Fodlan— he’d never even taken Almyra’s faith too seriously. But now… only a blind man could still deny that there was something true about Seiros’ teachings. Byleth had invoked the name of the goddess, and it had changed her. Claude could only hope that the changes were mostly skin deep. He’d grown fond of his teacher the way she was. Now, however, she certainly seemed out of character… more vulnerable that he’d ever seen her. 

“I saw you die.”

Her voice cracked.

Claude's heart dropped to his stomach. He wanted to stop her from speaking any further. Right away, he understood what had happened, and hearing the details made him feel woozy. But, for her sake, he swallowed and said:

“Teach, I’m right here. I’m alive. It didn’t matter.”

“Of course it did.” Her tone was like porcelain. “He hurt you. I saw that relic… run you through. And you died… I saw you…” She dug her nails into her palms. “I apologize. It’s inconsiderate to describe it.”

“It’s unsettling,” he admitted with a weak laugh. “But, if it’s painful to keep it to yourself, then I don’t want you to. I know you can’t unsee it, but you used divine pulse, right? So, you undid it. I never really died.”

“But I didn’t know if divine pulse would work. It didn’t change anything the night they took Sylvain and… Claude, I was terrified that the same thing would happen to you!” Her voice was nasally now. “I can only avert fate if an alternate fate exists. For Sylvain, there was only one option. So I didn’t know...”

Claude remembered how she’d attacked Miklan, taking no time to draw her sword; she simply pummeled him with all her speed and strength, not allowing him even the chance to rise— all while stealing glances at Claude from over her shoulder. He understood now. She’d already seen what she had to lose. She’d seen the worst outcome.

“No use dwelling on it. Crisis averted.” At this he offered a brief chuckle before moving on. “But there’s still what happened after that. I mean… look at you.”

She took his words literally and crouched over the pond, peering at the surface. Though distorted, her reflection stared back at her— pale hair and dazzling eyes. Claude crushed the remainder of his cattail and let the fluff fall onto the reflection, warping it further. 

“You called for… Sothis,” he said. Then he glanced at Byleth to see if she’d take offense, if she’d find that blasphemous. But her disposition remained the same. She stood.

“Yes. The Goddess of Fodlan. But I didn’t know that until recently. I’d known her for many moons before I put that together. Not even _she_ knew. She was weak, just a fragment of the goddess Rhea speaks of.”

With a huff, Claude crossed his arms. “You had a literal, genuine god inside your brain and you never even mentioned it.”

“I told you about divine pulse,” she pointed out. “But the stuff about Sothis… that seemed private. I always got the sense Sothis’ existence was something she wanted to keep between herself and me.” 

“Fair enough,” he said, still feeling some lingering sourness. He loathed when people kept him in the dark. He tried hard to get people to love and trust him so that they’d willingly divulge their secrets. But when they still kept stuff hidden… that got under his skin. Still, Byleth deserved at least some free passes—- few people had done as much for him as she had. So Claude moved on. “What happened, exactly? Is the goddess still there? Is she listening to us now?”

Byleth shook her head. “We may be two separate spirits, but we share a body. My body. Because of that, Sothis has always… been concerned with keeping me alive no matter what it cost her. When I asked her to help, she did… But it was only possible by further fusing us. I…” Byleth hung her head. “I cannot hear her anymore. She doesn’t feel separate from me. I can only sense her magic.”

Because Claude could see how sad this made her, he lowered himself a bit and placed a hand on her shoulder, running it up and down comfortingly. But, inwardly, he couldn’t stop excitement from bubbling, from springing up in the pit of his stomach. 

“Teach,” he said. “Then... you _are_ the goddess now.”

_And you’re on my side._

For years, Claude sat in a council with men and women who hated him. He’d worked hard— and lied— and still felt as though his ideal future was just beyond his finger tips. He’d used his time at Garreg Mach to work towards his goal. Often, after a night of research, he saw light rising past the library windows, and he heard the morning birds chirping. Those sights and sounds dug at him, made him realize and his nights digging through Church records were bearing no fruit. Then he wondered if he should have just stayed in Almyra. Perhaps, there was no way, other than war and oppression, to get what one truly wanted in this world. 

But now, Claude saw things starting to change for the better. Byleth had chosen his house, had made him stronger than ever before, and now she had revealed herself as the deity of this land. Claude couldn’t help but revel in that a bit. 

“I’m not sure about that.” Byleth stood, brushing cattail fluff from her knees. “I don’t even know how Sothis ended up inside of me. She did say, though, that she was the reason for… well, the way I am. Everyone has noticed it by now. I’ve never laughed or cried. That worried my father so much when I was younger. After coming to Garreg Mach, I started being able to connect with others better. But I am still not as emotionally developed as most other humans. That was the side effect of Sothis’ magic.”

“So, she’s always been there. Ever since you were little.” Claude removed his hand and rubbed his chin. “That’s a mystery we’re just going to have to solve. Perhaps we could check with Rhea.” He relaxed and gave her a smile, one he hoped offered encouragement. “But, if it’s any consolation, I think you’re fine how you are. Honestly… you’re kind of my best friend at this point. That means I can connect with you better than I can with anyone else.”

She smiled at this, just her typical, minor grin. But in the moment it felt as though it were worth more. 

“Let’s take a walk,” she said, “then meet up with the others. I think I could use a little more air.”  
  


After strolling the perimeter of the pond, Claude and Byleth returned to the wagon. The others had already gathered there.

“We have some treats,” said Ashe, handing them each a pumpkin chocolate chip muffin. Claude took a single bite then practically inhaled the rest. He’d been hungrier than he’d realized, and the muffin tasted like autumn— spiced, warm, and comfy. And, now of all times, he needed that. 

Byleth picked at her muffin. “I think we should let Sylvain rest,” she said. “But he should probably eat soon. I’m worried.”

Mercedes nodded. “He’ll be okay with light magic for a while. Professor Manuela taught me how to help people who are in comatose. But it’s a temporary solution. We shouldn’t leave him like this for more than a few days.” 

Ingrid rested her chin on the side of the wagon and watched him.

“I just don’t understand,” she said, “how anyone could do this to another human being. Especially someone who’s done nothing to them.” 

“It makes me wonder if those people really were human or not,” said Hilda, cocking her head. “They don’t look or act like it.”

“That’s exactly why we need to pursue them,” said Ashe firmly. “Even though Lady Gautier, Sylvain, and the margraviate are safe, we have to catch those people. They’ll only do something like this again.”

“I agree,” said Annette. “But maybe it’s about time the Church did take over. I mean…”

She glanced at Byleth sheepishly. The professor clutched her muffin in both hands. She shared a brief look with Claude and said, 

“Let’s all meet with Lady Rhea when we get back. I’m sorry. I know I owe you more explanations, but I have few. I have a connection with the goddess and she granted me the power to save you. But I do not know how that came to be. Annette, you’re correct; It’s time we have the Church shed some light on these mysteries.” 

“The goddess,” muttered Felix. “You’re serious? She’s real?”

“Careful, Felix,” said Claude with a soft snort. “You’ll anger the clergy if they catch you questioning it.”

“The goddess is real,” said Mercedes, lacing her fingers. “I believe she answered my prayers many years ago. And I believe she answered Professor Byleth’s prayer. However, I cannot help but agree that there is more going on here. Surely, the Church will help us. We are all fighting these enemies together.” 

“Right,” said Claude. “And I’m ready to pressure them if need be. For now, getting back to the margraviate and reconvening with Dimitri and the others is the first priority. An, once Sylvain wakes up, I’m sure he’ll have some information that will help us know how to proceed.”

The others gave tentative notes of agreement and, together, they boarded the wagon once more.   
  


Finally, after miles— and days— the Gautier mansion came into view, just above the hilltop. They’d reached the margraviate early in the morning, when the land and sky were still gloomy and cold. Claude’s breaths came out as milky smoke. Sylvain had still not awoken, but he wasn’t in danger; He breathed deeply and his heart rate was safe. Still, the group worried about how much longer he could go without nourishment, particularly water. Mercedes, breathed in through her nose and her palms lit. A magic circle formed beneath Sylvain and his body burned white for a moment before the spell faded. 

“Just a little longer,” she told him quietly. Claude watched, the sweetness of her words flipping his heart for a moment. He understood why the Lions had nothing but pleasant things to say about their cleric. She’d been abandoned before; Claude had overheard her explaining her past to Sylvain one night. But she was so different from Miklan— or even Claude. Her experiences had made her want to help people who suffered in the same way. She’d reacted to misfortune with empathy, not revenge or even healthy ambition. Only everyday kindness. 

The horses, now steered by Annette, trotted past the gate. With still half a mile to go, the front door of the mansion swung open and Lady Gautier appeared. Claude could not see her expression well, but her body swayed for a moment then stiffened. Behind her, came Dimitri and Dedue. For a moment, they only watched.

Then Lady Gautier took off running.

Her dress, the same shade as storm clouds, threatened to wrap around her rushing legs and topple her. But she pressed on, swinging her arms and letting long strands of fiery hair fall out of place and catch in her mouth. Annette halted the horses quickly when Lady Gautier reached the wagon, reached up, and clutched the side. Her eyes were frantic and longing, revealing how much she wished for answers and how terrified she was to ask questions. At last, Ingrid took initiative. She reached down and clasped Lady Gautier’s hand, pulling her up so that she could step into the wagon.

Once in, Phoebe Gautier’s lips trembled. She fell to the floor where her son lay and tucked her arm beneath his back. She pulled him to her chest and sobbed into his shoulder until her eyes went bloodshot. Heavy gasps muddled her voice, but Claude understood that she was saying Sylvain’s name softly, repeatedly. 

Next, Dimitri and Dedue reached the wagon. 

“Is he safe?” Dimitri asked.

Claude hopped down onto the frost-coated lawn.

“Yes. Safe and sound, Your Highness.” He flashed a wide smile. “You should be proud of your classmates. They performed well.”

Without a second’s warning, Dimitri reached forward and pulled Claude into a hug, nearly knocking the wind from his lungs.

“I am very proud. Of all of you, Claude. Thank you.”

Getting over his initial shock, Claude fell into the hug, suddenly exhausted. Returning from a mission that had weighed heavily on him… the relief he felt was nearly euphoric. It seemed that even Dimitri, who was typically too formal to ever initiate a hug, had experienced a sudden pop of emotion. After a moment, Dimitri pulled away, saying,

“Professor! What happened?”

With parted lips, he watched Byleth, taking in her new appearance. Even in the grey light, her hair seemed to shine, like threads in a silk dress… 

“I will tell you when we are settled. We should take care of Sylvain now.” She jumped from the edge of the wagon and Dimitri approached her, looking in to see Lady Gautier as she cradled her son, lingering tears falling from her bottom lashes. 

“His hair…” she murmured, brushing it away from his face with the side of her hand. “What happened to it? Is he still okay?”

“His vitals have returned mostly to normal.” Mercedes leaned and placed her hands on her knees. She wore a tender expression that eased Lady Gautier. “He will be weak for some time, but he’ll eventually recover.”

Lady Gautier nodded, sniffling and hugging him back to her shoulder. 

“I can carry him back to the manor,” offered Dedue. “Unless you would like a few more moments?” 

For a second, she seemed as though she’d request those additional moments. But, then, Claude realized her expression was one of distrust. He frowned at her wary eyes, unsure of what they meant. Was she scared to let her son go— so soon after getting him back? Or was it Dedue? Claude knew few people as loyal and gentle as he was but… Often, in Fodlan, people judged based on things other than someone’s heart or character. Only Lady Gautier herself knew what was running through her head; But the paranoia in her gaze was blatant. 

“Do you think,” said Lady Gautier, “you could pull the wagon up to the door? I can take him in from there.”

“O-of course!” said Annette, breaking out of a daze. She allowed Dimitri, Dedue, Byleth and Claude to board before taking them back towards the manor. Despite his residual worries, and the mysteries, Claude found a few moments to just breathe. He wanted to check on Lysithea and Marianne as soon as he could, but now was the time to rest— before a second tide could hit. 


	30. Beyond Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY CHAPTER 30!! I honestly can't believe I made it so far. This is the fanfic I've stayed with the longest! I'm pretty proud. Also congrats to Sylvie who is finally home. :D But it's not over yet. I got some fun stuff planned!

As he awoke, Sylvain felt disoriented, as though he were caught in the stirrup of a wyvern’s sattle, suspended upside down and fighting for an upright position. But, dizziness aside… he felt pleasant. At least, his body was not rife with pain nor did he sense any tight cuffs on his wrists or ankles, weighing him down. True, he was stiff and achy. But, for the first time in what felt like moons, he wasn't wracked with the pain of broken bones or sensitive bruises. 

He turned to his side and groped around until he found a cool section of his blanket and clutched it, absorbing the comfortable chill. 

_ A blanket…  _

Sylvain didn’t know what to make of that at first. Why did he have it? Did Miklan bring it to him? Like how he’d brought the elixir and the meal? The disorientation worsened for a moment, just until Sylvain could force his eyes open and stare at a vase of bluebells resting on a table against the wall.

He wasn’t in the cell. He was home.

Upon sitting up, Sylvain did feel a brief stab of pain in his abdomen. He was still starving, he realized. But he was too excited to dwell on that. The world around him, one growing more familiar with each passing second was filling him to the brim with a joy he couldn’t contain. And he overflowed. 

The bedroom blurred as his eyes filled with water. He sat, staring through the liquid filter, before finally blinking the tears down his cheeks and letting them fall onto his knuckles. This was the room he’d used as a child up until the day he left for the officer’s academy. Waking up here made him feel as though the past two years had been one long nightmare. Yet… no, that couldn’t be true. His sore body testified to the time he’d spent in Shambhala. Besides, not  _ everything  _ had been a nightmare. He’d had fun at Garreg Mach and he’d appreciated his time with the Lions even if their most recent mission had turned into such a hellish ordeal. 

Sinking back into his pillows, Sylvain stared at the Faerghus gryphon painted in cobalt ink on the sealing. To no avail, he tried to produce some saliva to cool his hot throat. He wanted water and something to eat—- though, perhaps, nothing too hearty this time. Soup or porridge would do. 

“... and I carried her to bed.”

A voice carried through the door. 

“Good. Poor Lady Gautier. She just needs to hold out a little bit longer. He’ll wake up soon. There’s no point in exhausting herself that way.”

“Hmph. It was stupid of her not to sleep last night.”

“Don’t be so—”

The door swung open and Ingrid’s voice caught when she saw Sylvain watching her. Her hands flew up and clasped over her mouth for just a moment. Then she cried,

“Oh, Goddess! Sylvain!” 

Felix was suddenly beside her, his eyes wider than Sylvain had ever seen them. He had yet to tie up his hair which revealed to Sylvain that it was early in the morning. Both he and Ingrid wore comfortable, plain clothing rather than their uniforms. 

For a moment, Felix only stared, his lips parting. Then he lunged— almost stumbling— across the room and to the bed. Sylvain’s winced when Felix embraced him. But, though his body was still tender, Sylvain couldn’t help but smile. The world solidified further, proving more and more how real it was, as he slowly wrapped his arms around his friend.

“Maybe I  _ am _ still dreaming…” Sylvain said with a wheezy laugh. “The real Felix would never hug me. Not in a million years.”

“Shut up.” Felix’s voice was harsh as ever… but seemed to fray just a bit at the edge. 

“It feels like it  _ has _ been a million years, anyway.” Ingrid knelt beside them, smiling in spite of her watery eyes. “Heh… no, that sounds so corny.”

“I don’t care. I’m so… so glad to see you.” Sylvain’s voice was only a whisper no matter how hard he tried to speak up.

“Here.” Ingrid got up and went to the dresser where a pitcher and a glass were waiting. She poured some water and passed it to him. Sylvain threw his head back and gulped. The masked men had given him water while he was held in that cell, but it had always been warm and tasted stale and metallic. This water was cold and fresh and Sylvain couldn’t get enough of it; he held his empty glass towards Ingrid who gave him a refill which he almost choked on. 

“Careful, you idiot…” said Felix.

“Sorry.” Sylvain wiped his lips with the side of his fist. His voice already sounded stronger. He sighed and stared at the empty glass as a droplet rolled down the side. Quietly— this time by choice— he asked, “What happened… How did I get here? And where… where is Miklan?”

“We found where they were keeping you,” said Felix, sitting back on his heels. “And we brought you back. As for Miklan…” He scowled. “Who cares? Their base was destroyed. I hope he died.”

Sylvain tightened his grip on the glass, discreetly so that his friends wouldn’t notice. Somehow, he didn’t think his brother was dead. He wasn’t sure why, but he just couldn’t see him dying like that.

Felix scowled. 

“Get that look off your face. He doesn’t deserve any sympathy. Especially not from you.”

“I’m not…” Sylvain hesitated. “I know that.” 

“We don’t have to discuss it now.” Ingrid took the cup and placed it on the table by the bluebells. “The others will be so thrilled you’re awake! They’re all downstairs eating breakfast. Your mother just went to bed. But I can go get everyone else!”   


“No!” said Sylvain quickly. Then calmer: “I just want to talk to you two for a bit. I don’t want to get overwhelmed.”

Ingrid nodded. “If that’s what you want.” She rejoined Felix at the side of the bed.

“Actually, this is good.” Felix’s voice sounded soft, almost like it did when he was little. “I wanted to talk too. About just… the past. Everything that happened.” 

“We don’t have to,” said Sylvain. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does!” Felix shouted, causing Sylvain to go rigid. “Come on.  _ You _ were always the one who wanted to sit around and talk about feelings.”

“I wanted to talk about you. And Glenn,” said Sylvain, not looking at either of his friends. “Not about…”

_ About Miklan. Or Mother and Father. Not about my life. _

“And that’s the issue!” Felix stood. “None of us were ever honest.”

“You have no right to get angry about that now.” Ingrid glared. “You were the worst of us.”

“Maybe I was,” said Felix. “I don’t care. Sylvain, why didn’t you ever let us help you?! If you’d just— If only you’d just told everyone how much of a monster he was! What were you trying to do? Protect him? Then maybe the blood of everyone in the margraviate is on you!”

“Felix!” screamed Ingrid. “How could you say that?!”

Sylvain grit his teeth and looked up at last. “Stop acting like I had to tell you anything. You didn’t talk to me about Glenn! You just changed! Are you going to explain that?!”

“I’ll tell you!” Felix grasped the bed post. “I was ashamed, okay! My brother died! But how could I explain how I was feeling to you? You’d never had a brother who loved you in the first place! It felt like talking about it would just be rubbing it in.”

“You didn’t trust me?” Sylvain bit his lip with anger. 

“It had nothing to do with trust, Sylvain. I just didn’t want to make you, someone with a million problems, listen to MY problems!”

“I never thought about it that way! Are you… are you kidding me?! Do you know how lonely that was?! I wanted to talk! I loved Glenn too!”

“If you wanted to talk, you shouldn’t have pushed me away every time Miklan came up!”

“That’s different! It was my problem. And… And what?! Did you want me to vent about Miklan after your brother died? That seemed like nothing in comparison!”

“Then you felt the same as I did! You’re such a hypocrite!”

“Why are you both yelling at each other like this?” said Ingrid in a solid, small voice. “We’re finally together again.” 

“You’re just as bad…” muttered Sylvain, “You lost your fiance and now you’re stuck fending off proposals. And you’d rather take it in silence and than talk to any of us.  _ This _ is the reason there’s so much stress all the time!”

“Because of me?!” Ingrid, whirled and glared at them both indignantly. “My problems are my own. Besides… Felix and I, we can’t do anything about Glenn anymore, Sylvain. He’s gone. And we’re just living with the aftermath. But we  _ could  _ have done something about Miklan!”

“No,” said Sylvain. “He’s a sociopath. Even if I hadn’t tried to take it, how would things have changed? He has no morals. Maybe he would have just come after me sooner. He killed our father! Do you think getting him in trouble all the time when we were younger would have made him an upstanding citizen?”

“I don’t know,” said Felix, crossing his arms. “Maybe if he’d been caught more, he’d have done something really crazy before now. Maybe they would have executed him and we’d all be happy.”

Sylvain blinked. “Felix… stop. I didn’t… I don’t want him dead. He’s still my brother.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t learned anything. You’re still a fool.”

Something about that, made Sylvain’s guts stir and boil. He’d been mad at Felix before, just for little spats. They’d fought over Sylvain’s womanizing tendencies and Felix’s rude attitude. They’d even had strangely heated arguments over whose turn it was to weed the verona patch in the greenhouse. But Sylvain's vision hadn’t gone so blurry then. Now, he could hardly see or think, the anger was mounting, rising so quickly.

“You’re acting like I’m stupid, but you haven’t been living my life, Felix! You don’t understand!” His breath staggered as he tried to articulate, tried to explain the fury in his brain. "Fine, you’re right! I wished all the time that I could have a brother like Glenn! And it did hurt seeing how devastated you were when he died, because I knew that that Miklan and I would never feel that way about each other! I’d be numb and if... If it were me, he— he’d probably be happy! But, you can’t call me a fool! Because he’s  _ my  _ brother and that means something to me! I can’t help that! You’re someone just  _ watching  _ and saying I should have done this or I should have done that. How dare you!?”

He felt like he was going to pass out again. He leaned back and tried to breathe. The room stayed quiet as Sylvain waited for the spots to fade from his vision. The gryphon on the ceiling came back into view.

Ingrid poured Sylvain another glass of water which he downed immediately. 

“You’re right.” Her voice was low. “It’s easy for us to tell you that you should have cut him out and made him pay. I can’t speak for Felix but… I’d be happy if only you just relied on us a bit more, if you just allowed us to help you in some way.”

Sylvain’s eyes burned, and he rubbed at them. 

“I will,” he told her. “if we can talk about Glenn’s funeral too.”

Felix stiffened. For a tense moment, Sylvain thought he’d decline the compromise. But, he sighed and said,

“Very well.”

And so, for the next hour, the three of them discussed their lives up until that point. They spoke about Miklan. About Glenn. About Ingrid’s pressure to find a new fiance, about Felix’s relationship with his father, and about the Gautier family. Moment by moment, the topics flowed more freely and everyone seemed surprised by that, shocked by how eager they truly were to explain themselves. Sylvain shed so much bitterness, like a chrysalis. Even Felix seemed less stone cold. 

Finally, they reached the last subject…

“I don’t have my crest anymore,” Sylvain told them, bending his knees and gripping them.

“We figured,” said Felix. “From looking at you.”

From looking at him? Sylvain didn’t know what he meant at first— until he recalled how Miklan had changed. White patches had cropped up in Miklan’s unruly red hair after the experiment… Sylvain felt his own head.

“Ah. The white. Damn it. That can’t be good for business. Women will probably think I look like an old man or something.”

Ingrid clucked her tongue. “It’s really not that bad. And how could you be worried about philandering now?”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.” Sylvain scraped at a hangnail. “Anyway, I do feel… I don’t know? Like I have less stamina. I did lose a lot of my power. But it’s okay, I can still fight. Ashe and Dedue are fine and I will be too. I never even liked my crest. But I’m scared… I always thought that, maybe, people didn’t like  _ me _ at all. What if people were just tolerating me because of that crest? I don’t know if I want to find out.”

“Sylvain, we obviously still care about you,” said Ingrid. “As much as ever.”

“Yeah. Maybe it’s a good thing,” said Felix with a shrug. “You get to see who’s really worth your time.”

“But what if… what what will my mother think?”

The question hung among them for a moment. Sylvain felt so exposed suddenly and wished he could somehow suck the words back into his throat. Ingrid and Felix mulled over the question. 

“I don’t know what I can say.” Ingrid hung her head. “I don’t think that will happen… but if it does… we’re here for you. You won’t be completely alone. Remember, we  _ want _ to talk to you.”

Nodding, though feeling somehow unsatisfied with that… Sylvain turned and glanced back at the vase of bluebells. Blue was the color of Faerghus and of the Lions, so seeing it so often in the Gautier manor made sense. But the true reason for the flowers was because they were his mother’s favorite. Sylvain’s father brought them home for her often, whenever he came back from long trips. She’d received dozens of them when she was pregnant with Miklan and had dried and framed them. One of Sylvain’s only good memories of Miklan— an early memory— was of a day he and his brother had gone out to a field to pick as many as possible for her…

Selfish people could love still flowers; Sylvain would not deny that. But this fact about his mother cast a positive light on his image of her. She had a soft, an interesting side. A side that made her so human. Receiving bluebells always made her smile, even when she was trying to keep a grudge. She’d played a hand in Miklan and Sylvain’s unhappy childhood, but Sylvain could not bring himself to see a woman with such a caring side as a wicked person. 

“When she wakes up,” said Sylvain. “I want to tell her. Alone.”

“Then we support that.” Ingrid gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

A knock on the door startled them

“What?” called Felix.

The door opened, revealing Dimitri, Claude, and Byleth. Like Felix and Ingrid, they were each wearing a casual outfit. In his hands, Dimitri held two white mugs. He nearly dropped them when he saw Sylvain sitting up, eyes open.

“Sylvain!” he said. Byleth reached forward and took the mugs from him so that he could lean down next to Felix and Ingrid. “I am happy to see you awake! How are you? Does anything still hurt? Do you need something to eat now?”

His stream of questions diverted Sylvain’s thoughts from his mother. He chuckled at the prince’s concern. 

“I could use some food… Uh, I’m just worried I’ll throw up again.”

“We can start by giving you broth,” Byleth suggested. She passed the mugs to Felix and Ingrid. “Here. It’s some coffee from breakfast.”

“Professor, what on earth happened to you?” Sylvain knew he sounded blunt, but he couldn’t help it. 

She wound a strand of hair the color of dried clovers around one finger. 

“It happened when we were rescuing you. I received some power from the goddess. To protect us.”

As much as Sylvain wanted to question that, he couldn’t. It strangely made sense. In most ways, Byleth still looked like she always had. But now she reminded him of someone else. After a moment, he pinpointed the similarities.

_ Flayn. And Rhea.  _

Especially Rhea. If Byleth suddenly declared that she and Rhea were long lost sisters, Sylvain would believe it in a heartbeat. Her hair was the same shimmery green and there was an enlightenment in her eyes, a particular glint. The explanation that she’d been blessed by Rhea’s goddess… was honestly as good as any.

“Thank you,” said Sylvain. “For saving me and protecting everyone.” He frowned at Claude. “I’m so grateful you’re here too, Claude, but… I put everyone at risk. I remember hearing that the professor… wanted to give up her relic to those demons.”

“It was a consideration,” said Claude with a shrug. “Didn’t work out. Don’t worry about it. I risked my neck for you all and now I expect the same in return someday. I’ll cash in, I promise.”

Dimitri shook his head. “Of course we’ll return the favor. But isn’t your phrasing a bit tactless, my friend?”

“Is it?” Claude smirked and folded his arms behind his head.

“Nobody got hurt, did they?” pressed Sylvain. “They’re all safe, right?”

“They are all well,” Dimitri told him. “They just went to take a walk in the garden.” He rotated his shoulder with a grunt. “Hilda, Marianne, and Lysithea are here as well. Lysithea and I were wounded during a battle in town, but as you can see, I’ve been recovering. She is too.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Yes, yes everyone is safe and sound,” said Claude, swinging his arms back and forth and rocking on the balls of his feet. But, slowly, his expression changed to something more catlike. He raised an eyebrow. “So, I’d like to start getting some information. I’m sure you have a few enemy secrets to reveal, yeah?”

“I..” Sylvain almost choked on nothing. How could he forget? Of course! Half the reason he’d been so desperate to escape was to pass on everything he’d learned. He sat up straight, feeling another pang in his empty stomach. “Right! I do! I need to tell you!”

“Hey, don’t overexert yourself,” Ingrid told him. 

“That doesn’t matter right now. Let me just think.” He clutched his head and began to rattle off the facts he’d overheard as though they were grocery list items. “Their target is Garreg Mach! Everything they’ve been doing— studying crests and making monsters— has been to prepare them to take it! They have spies too, a man who I know I’ve heard before… I never saw him but I just know he works at the monastery. He was a teacher or… or maybe a monk or something? And they mentioned someone among the students too! And then they— Lady Cornelia!” Sylvain interrupted himself with another thought. He felt as though he needed to spit out everything or it would fall to the back of his mind and get lost in the haze forever. “She was with them! She was  _ helping  _ them. She was in charge of the crest experiments and everything! She’s a traitor!”

“H-hold on…” Ingrid’s brows knit and her arms twitched. “That can’t be right or… maybe it was someone impersonating her? Why would the Savior of Faerghus do that?”

“Who is Lady Cornelia?” Byleth asked. “Claude has been teaching me more about Fodlan’s politics. But I confess that I am not too well versed in it.”

“She’s a noble woman with tons of power in Faerghus’ government,” said Claude. “Years ago, a plague hit Faerghus. It was devastating. Adrestia and Liecester even had to close their borders. None of the kingdom’s nobles had any idea how to stop it and were encouraging everyone with any grasp on magic to help find a cure. It was Cornelia Arnim who finally developed a medicine. So, King Lambert, Dimitri’s father, gave her a title and a place in Faerghus’ court.”

“That sums it up,” Dimitri agreed. But his expression had shifted. His eyes glazed over, and Sylvain watched his Adam’s apple bob. Something about the situation had disturbed the prince; he’d made a connection, one he didn’t like. Sylvain almost asked if he was all right, but his gut told him not to. He sensed a brief darkness in his friend that warded him away. 

“Ingrid could be right,” said Felix. “My father works closely with Cornelia. The last time he returned from Fhirdiad, he said something about her having changed a lot over the years. I didn’t care at the time. But that might fit into this.” 

Sylvain watched his friends consider everything. Though he knew that they only wished to view each angle and to make sense of the details, he couldn’t help but feel impatient. Didn’t they trust him?

“Garreg Mach is at stake,” he said. “And I know first-hand what those people are capable of. I don’t wish it on anyone.” 

“I understand.” Dimitri’s eyes cleared at last. “I believe that your testimony gives me enough reason to have my uncle place Lady Cornelia in custody. If she is truly guilty, I suspect she would know not to return to Fhirdiad. If we can apprehend her, though, I intend to get to the bottom of her involvement in everything. Believe me.” His voice had a slight growl to it. “If she is responsible for what happened to you or to the margraviate, she will be punished severely.” 

Felix placed his cup of coffee, which he hadn’t taken even a sip from, on the nightstand. His expression had turned stormy. Sylvain recalled what his friend had told him many moons ago— about a side of Dimitri that Sylvain had never seen. And hoped he would never see. 

“Let’s talk as a group,” said Sylvain quickly, swinging his feet off the side of the bed. Ingrid twitched, but he gave her a thumbs up. “I’m woozy, but I’ll make it. I want to see the others.”

“Careful. Please.” All traces of darkness faded from Dimitri as he offered his shoulder. 

Sylvain stood, deciding to ask for the broth Byleth mentioned as soon as they got downstairs. For now, he had to take one step at a time. Garreg Mach depended on it. 


	31. Beyond Gautier Bluebells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised I finished this so soon. This chapter is long and VERY dialogue heavy, but I thought it ended up kind of cool. 
> 
> Honestly, I don't usually format like this when I write-- I do it like how novels have it. But I decided to format the fanfic way and it occurred to me while writing that I don't get how to do very long dialogue like this :'). Hopefully it makes sense!

“Sylvain!” cried Ashe

When the others returned, they saw Sylvain and company sitting in the parlor. An empty bowl of broth sat on the table. There had been small chunks of carrots in the bowl which he’d been worried about at first, but he’d kept them down just fine, as Byleth said he would. He wanted to ask Mercedes for help too— he was sure that clerics had some kind of potion that would help. But those questions could wait.

“I’m so happy you’re up!” Annette rushed to the coffee table and nearly tripped over it before catching herself and grabbing Sylvain’s hands. “You look so much better now!”

Mercedes’ eyes glittered. “We were so worried about you, Sylvain. How are you feeling? Physically, you seem to be recovering but…”

She trailed off and Sylvain cocked his head. 

“Ah.” said Dimitri quietly. “It’s just that your mother had some difficulty readjusting.”

“I see,” said Sylvain, trying to mask his concern. He wanted to retain the mood. “I really want to see how she’s doing. But that can happen later.” He reached out his arms and opened and closed his fists. “Hugs. Please.”

Annette giggled as she, Mercedes, and Ashe crossed to the other side of the table and embraced him. Their warmth, how real they felt— it almost made Sylvain cry again. He peered at Dedue who sauntered up and stopped, only offering a little smile.

“I am so pleased to see that you are safe,” he said. “I was scared for you.”

His firm, rich voice made it even harder for Sylvain to keep composed.

Hilda, Marianne, and Lysithea kept their distance to allow the Lions to have their reunion. But Sylvain noticed how intensely Lysithea watched him. Like Dimitri had said, she bore signs of fatigue. She’d lost a little weight since the last time he’d seen her, and white hair fluttered around her head in whisps with split ends. Her eyes were caved and dark and, yet, that didn’t stop her expression from looking any less analytical. 

“Not to be a downer,” said Claude. “But we really do have a lot to discuss. Sylvain has so much to say."

“Right…” Sylvain swallowed and thought for a moment before selecting a place to start.

Piece by piece he went through everything he’d heard and all that had transpired in Shambhala. He explained the crest surgery, detailing the strange magic and equipment used. Pointing to his arm, he talked about where they’d drawn his blood and the large plum-colored bruise it had caused. Ashe had to stare at the floor as Sylvain explained. Beside him, Felix twitched with anger. Next, came the information he’d overheard and how he’d seen Cornelia. Finally, he described his near-escape. To his delight, the story sounded quite impressive as he retold it— despite the fact he’d only been recaptured in the end. Still, he’d pulled off a number of feats before then. 

At last, he hit the end of the long, dark tale and stopped. Nobody spoke for a moment and the silence itched at Sylvain. So, he said,

“Everything’s over now, at least. I guess I don’t have my crest anymore. But that’s fine. It was just a curse in the end.”

“Don’t say that.” Dimitri spoke as his blonde brows knit. Sylvain had struck a chord somehow. “Your crest was never a curse,” he went on. “Sylvain, it was a part of you, something you had every right to cherish. The only thing that ever made it bad was the people around you.”

“I agree,” said Mercedes, tailing Dimitri’s thought. “I suffered because of my crest. But people— misguided people— did that. Crests are only things, tools. If having something others don’t is wrong… where does it end? What about those who are more intelligent than others? What about people born with great strength?” 

Briefly, Sylvain recalled what Miklan had told him right after he’d been taken:

_Crests are intrinsic, and that’s where the problem lies. You all can keep other people down with them because they’re hit or miss. Anyone can work hard and grow strong, study and become smart, or be good with money and become rich._

Sylvain could not help but agree with his brother there. However, he agreed with Dimitri and Mercedes as well. Treating crests like a scourge wasn’t fair; it didn’t have to be that way. Wouldn’t changing the world’s point-of-view be better than somehow banning crests or hating them?

“That’s all pure truth,” said Claude. His eyes flit briefly to Marianne who was listening to everyone closely, clutching her knuckles. For a moment, his tone was vague then melted back into its usual friendliness. “Very few curses exist outside of our culture and our minds.”

“My second crest is a real curse,” Lysithea pointed out. “It was never meant to be mine. And that is now true for Miklan Gautier. Hmph, what an idiot... asking for a curse like that..."

“Time out,” said Sylvain with a slight head shake. He poked a finger into the top of the table. “ _Second crest_?”

She sighed, as if she were impatient and extended her hands. Two bright crests appeared briefly and she almost immediately shut them off.

“You are not their first experiment,” she told him. “They gave me someone else’s blood too, and now I’m stuck with both of these. I can’t use them to their full power at once without almost dying. And just having them siphoned most of my lifespan away.”

“You’re… wait. Does that mean I’m going to die?” Sylvain’s mind went fuzzy and he gripped the edge of the table. Ingrid reached over the back of the couch and grasped his hand. Her fingers did comfort him a bit; they pulled him back into the moment. 

“I am not certain,” said Lysithea. “Your situation is not quite like mine. But I can’t imagine your body is happy having no crest to rely on anymore. Still, we have time. I suggest both of us visit Hanneman when we return to the academy.” She frowned. “How did we just gloss over the rest of what you said? There are _spies_ at the monastery? And in Faerghus’ government? We should be discussing that!”

“It was a lot,” said Mercedes. “Lady Cornelia… Sylvain, I believe you about her. But I can’t understand it. She is a woman I look up to. She helped so many people in the kingdom. How could she do something so cruel to you?”

“I agree that it’s strange,” said Dimitri. “But I’m going to look into it. I said I’ll have my uncle arrest her.”

“I’m even more worried about Garreg Mach,” muttered Lysithea. “Claude, Dimitri, Professor. I’m sure you remember what we discussed.”

Sylvain watched Dimitri pale and a pure sheet of panic cross over his face. The expression terrified Sylvain. What could frighten someone like Dimitri so much?

“What’s going on?” asked Hilda. “Claude?”

“It’s not that difficult to understand,” said Lysithea with a huff before Claude could even answer. “There’s a spy at Garreg Mach among the students. There is also someone with hair like mine and ties to the empire.”

“Wait! Stop!” cried Marianne. “That— that can’t be right! You’re implying Edelgard, aren’t you? B-but, no! Adrestia cannot be involved in this. That would be terrible! That would be…”

“A civil war for Fodlan,” finished Felix. 

“I suspected this was leading to war before,” said Dedue. “The crest experiments and monsters were reason enough. It makes sense for them also to have the support of a major government.”

“But why would Edelgard agree with something like that?” snapped Dimitri. “It makes even less sense than Cornelia betraying us! Edelgard has a duty to her people. Why would she just hand them over to absolute beasts!?”

His voice had risen like a fire burning from ember to full flame. Felix went stiff, and Sylvain tried not to think of the “boar” his friend so often mentioned.

“There are gaps to fill,” said Claude, placing a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. For a moment, Sylvain was afraid Dimitri would lash out. But he stayed still. “You are right. We cannot go sentencing people all willy nilly. But we cannot be so easily duped either. I already told Lorenz to watch the Eagles closely. We have eyes and ears at the academy. My Deer are on it.”

Hilda clasped her hands together. Her expression had fallen like everyone else’s, but now it was perking up.

“Right! Lorenz and the others are dependable when they need to be! And it’s a good idea just to watch for now. When we get back, we can approach Edelgard together.”

“That’s risky,” Byleth muttered. Her hand rested on her sword’s hilt. “We can’t mess around and wait for an attack. We need to come clean about our findings to Lady Rhea. She trusts my opinion, so I can ask her to hold Edelgard until we arrive and not to treat her like a traitor just yet. But, please, I am strongly advising that we tell the Church everything. The safety of the other students and the clergy depends on it.”

For a moment, Dimitri looked as though he would argue. Then he sighed.

“Yes. I think you’re right. I can send a hawk to my uncle. I trust you have enough energy to warp a message to Lady Rhea?”

“I believe so,” said Byleth with a nod. 

Suddenly feeling tired, Sylvain leaned back against the sofa and released Ingrid’s hand. He’d done all he needed to. He’d survived, he’d returned home, and he’d revealed everything he knew. The lazy side of him hoped that he could back out of this whole mess now— just take a long break from missions and the concerns of the Blue Lions— and sleep in every day for the next week. That idea sounded lovely. 

But he’d briefly forgotten about a large loose end.

“Sylvain!”

The group lurched as Lady Gautier appeared in the doorway. Her appearance shocked Sylvain; his mother loved gorgeous dresses and elaborately braiding her hair. She always wore makeup and held her shoulders up straight. Now her hair was a thick mess and she wore a common white dress with no other skirts, corsets, or broaches. Her face was gaunt like the ghouls’ from one of Glenn’s ghost stories— not even a smudge of blush in sight. 

Lady Gautier rushed towards her son and embraced him with a cry. The little cracks Sylvain saw in her only seemed greater while they were close. Her skin felt dry and she wasn’t wearing the perfume that Sylvain always remembered her wearing, the kind that smelled like sugar and rhubarb. He understood now what Dimitri had meant when he’d said she hadn’t fully readjusted. 

Still, Sylvain hugged her. The tears finally came, but only rested on his water lines until he could quickly rub them away. When she sat back, he saw that her tears had done the same. 

“I missed you,” she told him through a stuffy nose. “I missed you so, so much.”

“How about we give you two some time to talk.” Now Dimitri’s voice had shed all of its previous anger. It sounded kind and knowing. 

“Yes. Please,” said Sylvain. “I… can we go and take a walk in the garden?”

“Are you well enough?” asked his mother in surprise. 

“I’ll make it,” he told her. “I just want to get out of the manor for a bit.”

“I suppose…” she said. “Just let me know if it becomes too much.”

He nodded and, from the corner of his eye, saw Dimitri and Claude ushering their housemates back into the hall. Claude was the last to file out. He hung in the doorway for a moment. Sylvain could not see his expression from such a discrete angle, but he sensed an oddly cold, cunning kind of curiosity in the house leader. Finally, Claude ducked into the hall after the others.

Lady Gautier helped her son up and, together, they headed towards the colorful foliage and syrupy smells of the garden.

The flowers— lilies, bluebells, foxgloves, Faerghus frost flowers, and columbines— rustled as a zephyr swept through the plantlife. Seeing the garden again was even more welcoming than Sylvain imagined. He loved the winding stone path and the gorgeous fountains topped with marbled pegasi which burbled water into the hair. The ivy creeping up the manor made him feel at home again; he remembered climbing the lattice beside it when he was little and snapping off a piece. That had caused him to lose his footing and plunge back down to earth. He’d broken his arm and had screamed like he’d seen a murder. A raven-haired maid had found him and carried him inside frantically, looking for anyone who could use white magic. She’d been pretty and young which had been enough for Sylvain to stop crying and, looking back on the memory now, he was quite amused by the whole thing.

“Let’s stop here,” said Lady Gautier, indicating a stone bench among several patches of blue and white flowers. Sylvain nodded, grateful. He wondered if she could sense how winded the short walk from the house to the garden had made him. Returning to bed sounded nice. But he also worried that his exhaustion came from the empty space within him where his crest had once been; he wanted to stay calm and prove to himself that he was the soldier he’d always been. 

Taking a seat beside his mother, Sylvain ran his tongue over the ridges behind his teeth and waited for her to speak until he realized that she was waiting for the same thing. So he swallowed and opened his mouth only for the most dangerous topic to spring forth first.

“I lost my crest.”

She blinked at him in shock but, slowly, her eyes fell to her lap where her hands lay. She twisted her wedding ring. 

“I suspected that’s what they wanted… when they took you.”

Her reaction didn’t give a hint of disdain. Her cadence was tender as it had always been and did not indicate that she intended to abandon him. Still, Sylvain felt unsatisfied. Perhaps compelled by a sourness in his own heart, he pushed on.

“Yes. It was a test. And it worked. So, Miklan bears the Crest of Gautier now.” 

At the mention of Miklan, Lady Gautier raised her thumb to her mouth and bit on the nail. Her eyes grew wide and Sylvain heard a soft, grainy “crunch” on the stone walkway as she pressed her heel into it. 

“That crest was important to this house,” said Sylvain. “You and Father said that constantly. So… what will you do now?” He didn’t want to dig more thorns into his heart, but he couldn’t help but speak. The more he went on, the more he knew that he wanted clear answers. He wanted the truth more than he was afraid of being hurt. 

“The only option is for Gautier’s heir to be crestless then,” she whispered. “... After all that…”

“After all that…” Sylvain repeated the words without truly meaning to. They’d struck him like a dart. “You insisted that only a crest-bearer could properly maintain the margraviate. By that logic, it’s not possible for me to do so now.”

“We’ve got no choice,” said Lady Gautier. A little panic slipped into her tone. “There’s nobody else. Miklan may have a crest now, but that is not all that matters. He’s a criminal and a heretic.”

“What if you’d only said that before?” said Sylvain. “That a crest is not all that matters? What if that had changed things? I— is it really fair? For me to stay here now? It feels hypocritical.”

“Sylvain.” She took his hand, but her fingers only rested there, too weak and trembling to grasp. He glanced at her face and saw her watching him with frantic eyes; there were more wrinkles around them than he remembered. “Please don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to die alone!”

Her statement startled him initially; she was getting older and the past months had weathered her down. But she wasn’t dying. Then… her point occurred to him. She’d thought into the future and seen a day when everything had ended, when House Gautier had rotted. And she passed on having lost everything the world had ever given her. Still, Sylvain had to continue asking the uncomfortable questions. 

“But if there was some other person here to take over, would you care about me? Mother… am I just your last resort?”

She cringed and returned her gaze to her lap, once again fiddling with her wedding ring. Sylvain kept staring until she tilted her head back up to him. A chilly gust of wind flicked some loose orange hair behind her shoulder and flapped the hem of her plain dress. 

“I’ve been… thinking,” she whispered. “May I… tell you everything? From the start? And leave the truth up to you?”

Sylvain’s heart free fell. He’d dug deeper, but now that his mother had placed everything on the table, he wanted to back out again. Still, he swallowed and said,

“Yes.”

So she took a deep breath and began,

“I didn’t have a choice about marrying your father. That decision was made for both of us, and it was treated as… pure logic, I suppose. Lesser noble families need to maintain attachments to major ones in order to survive. Major noble families need to constantly accept new crest-bearers into their bloodlines. Logic.

"I only had one option for my life. But, despite that, I did come to love your father. I think we both had a sense of duty and we grew to care about each other because of it. We wanted to make Faerghus proud. When Miklan was born… I do not recall being disappointed in him. I only thought that he wouldn’t quite be enough to protect our territory, to deal with Sreng. Logic. I never thought that view was hateful. I still loved him. I still wanted him. But I had opinions on what roles he could and could not have. Just like my parents and your father’s parents had had about us.

"When you were born, your role was also decided, and I didn’t understand how you or Miklan felt about that. You had power and he… he had freedom. I don’t know… perhaps, I myself was envious. You and I each had just one very esteemed place we fit into. But he had a whole world of simple things at his fingertips. So, I let him go and focused on you. I thought that made sense. I thought that just because you were more important did not mean my love for you or Miklan would change… But that was foolish… I think that the moment you place that sort of value on a person…”

Now, she began to cry. Tears caught in her red lashes. “... you sabotage your sense of love.”

Sylvain didn’t know what to say; he’d never heard his mother speak so much about herself. When arguments happened, his father usually took the helm and his mother merely echoed. She never seemed like she’d truly thought about any of it. 

“I made so many mistakes!” she sobbed. “I ruined my family! I ruined my son!”

“Don’t say that,” muttered Sylvain. “You did make mistakes. But Miklan is responsible for all his own choices. You never forced him to do anything.”

He almost said the same thing about himself. After all, Miklan’s words were still fresh in his head. Sylvain had never gone as far as his brother had; but he’d used people and had inwardly rationalized it as his parents' fault. They were why he felt the need to make mistakes. But his cries for genuine attention, the way he treated women, and how he'd been dishonest with his friends— that had all been his own. 

Lady Gauter wiped her lashes and sniffed. 

“I know that. But… I can’t properly explain the weight of being a mother. I— I remember laying in bed one night years ago and it just hitting me that… Miklan was a bad person. I’d raised a bad person. And that felt like failure. So, I tried not to think about it again. Until… he killed his own father and abused his own kin! We… we did have happy family memories and, suddenly, I hated them all.”

She reached down and plucked a flower from beside the bench. Sylvain heard the stem go “snap” and he saw her bring the plant to her eyes. It was a bluebell, a large and vibrant one. She delicately felt the petals and her gaze softened.

“Back when you were about five, you and Miklan went out and came running home with armfuls of these. I watched you two hurry up to his room and, later, you came out holding letters filled with bluebells. For me. It was so cute. You'd spelled your name wrong, and it was crossed out and rewritten in Miklan’s handwriting.” Again she started crying heavily until Sylvain could no longer understand what she was choking out. She breathed and repeated it: “I kept those letters and I dried all the flowers. I kept them for well over a decade, and after he kidnapped you, I went and got everything and threw it all into the fireplace.”

Burying her face into her hands, she said, “I regretted it. I smothered the fire… the letters came apart in my hands.”

Sylvain felt a familiar prick behind his eyes. When he blinked, the tears came.

“Mother…” 

He hugged her, setting his chin on top of her head. She grasped his arm, her fingers stronger now. Sylvain had seen the way students at Garreg Mach clutched onto a loved one while getting a stray arrow removed. The strength his mother had now seemed like that. He understood her and how much she must have despised Miklan; he’d killed her husband and he’d tried to send the margraviate to ruin. But Sylvain also could understand how wiping out every record of joyful times had made her feel. She’d asked for him to determine the truth. The truth about how she felt, the truth about their family.

And he didn’t know. Their situation was not something logical. It never was. 

“I don’t want to forget everything either,” he mumbled, feeling his chin rise and fall against her head. He sat back and looked at her. “No matter how angry I am at him or you or father, I don’t want our house’s name to be a blight on Fodlan. But I also don’t want anyone to forget what happened to us.” He stood, feeling blood rush to his skull. His mother steadied him. “Things need to change. And I think they will. I believe in His Highness and Claude. They’ll build something new. And that sounds better than Miklan’s way of tearing stuff down. I’m going to support them and become the best heir to Gautier ever. The best _crestless_ heir to Gautier ever.”

He remembered what Dimitri had said,

_Your crest was never a curse. Sylvain, it was a part of you, something you had every right to cherish._

For the first time, he agreed. That crest was _his_ and it was _good_. It had never been an evil curse. The only thing evil about it was the shallow value, the love-sabotaging value, people had placed upon it. Still, now he had a new experience, something that had also shaped him: losing his crest. And he’d accept that as a part of him as well.

In the distance, a hawk screamed as it flew off from the top window of the manor. In its claws, it held a scroll.

The letter to Fhirdiad had been sent, the first step in preparing to dismantle the enemy. 


	32. Beyond Foiled Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! This chapter also took longer than I would have liked. I had to restart it a few times. But I think I got it to make sense. :D
> 
> Enjoy!

Edelgard dug her heels into the cobblestone by the merchants’ stalls and bit into an apple she’d just purchased. She enjoyed the crisp snap of the fruit’s skin beneath her teeth. Typically, she didn’t eat apples unsliced; the juices made a sticky mess of her hands. But she didn’t like looking so unoccupied as she watched the gatekeeper. Her list of excuses to haunt the market were dwindling, but at least the gatekeeper was too cheerful to notice her suspicious behavior. He amused Edelgard just as much as he disappointed her. On one hand, she found his friendly demeanor quite sweet, but on the other hand… she could not fathom how someone could be so inept at his duty. If it were up to her, she’d reassign him. 

Still, despite the comfortable weather and the fresh fruit… This situation was an unpleasant one. Edelgard hoped that she would never have to put herself in such a tight corner again. Quickly, she, Miklan, and Hubert had come to the conclusion that Byleth would send a letter to Lady Rhea as soon as Sylvain awoke. The tricky part was predicting when that would be. The best thing Edelgard could do was watch the gate as much as possible. At Garreg Mach, everything sent from outside needed to pass by the gatekeeper. That included mail, even letters sent by magic. Once he received a note, the gatekeeper would wait for a fellow soldier to pass by. Then he would hand it off to him or her for delivery. Edelgard just needed to be watching…

The moment arrived.

A glittering blue light sprouted up in front of the gate. Swinging his arms with relentless optimism, the gatekeeper bent and touched the light which solidified into a letter. Edelgard closed in quickly, losing so much interest in her apple that she nearly dropped it. The gatekeeper noticed her approaching, and he grinned. 

“Good afternoon, Princess! You’ve been invested in the mail lately.” He elbowed the air. “Expecting a letter from someone special?”

Though his implications embarrassed her, Edelgard was grateful that he was so off track. At least he didn’t suspect her true intentions in the slightest. 

“That is private.” She tried not to sound too cold; perhaps she could roll with the scenario he’d already set up for her. Still… she did not think she made a believable lovestruck schoolgirl. “But… could you maybe tell me… is that for me?”

The gatekeeper glanced down at the address. 

“Ah. Sorry. No luck… Oh! This should really be delivered immediately though! It looks like it’s from the professor!”

_ This is it! _

Edelgard’s gloves suddenly felt too warm; her palms sweat. 

_ Lie. Quickly! _

“Is it for the archbishop, then?” asked Edelgard, frowning. “I am glad it’s here. She’s been worried about the Faerghus group lately. Would you like me to deliver it? I do not have class for another few hours.”

“Could you?” He perked up, then chuckled with embarrassment. “Wait… no it wouldn’t be right to send the Imperial Princess on errands for me. I can flag down someone else in a few minutes.”

“Come now.” Edelgard crossed her arms. “I am a student here just like everyone else and I do not want to be treated differently. You would deny me normalcy?”

The gatekeeper lifted his helmet with one hand and scratched the side of his head.

“That wasn’t my intention. Though… Lord Claude has said similar things before. I guess he has delivered the mail too…”

“Claude has?”

Edelgard tried not to let her expression drop too far as she considered that. Claude could be helpful when he wanted to be. She’d seen him volunteer to do the dishes for one of the maids and fail miserably at it. Despite his struggles, he’d tried his best to finish even though he’d broken several cups and coated his sleeves to the elbows in suds. But Edelgard didn’t believe for an instant that he’d never offered his services for selfish motives. She knew that he liked to poke around where he was not wanted… Rooting through others’ mail… That was in character for him.

_ Don’t you ever distrust people? _ Edelgard wanted to ask the gatekeeper. She knew that he kept a sharp lookout for villains and crooks. But had he ever suspected deceit from among the students?

“Yup! And some buddies of mine say Professor Byleth is helpful too. You nobles and Church bigshots sure are intimidating at first glance, but you’re all pretty good people.”

“I am glad you think so.” Edelgard nodded politely as he passed her the letter. She winced as a guilty feeling, a sensation that felt like a centipede, scurried around in her guts. But that passed quickly as she wished the gatekeeper a good afternoon before heading— not for the audience chamber— but for the dorms.

After locating Hubert and explaining the situation, Edelgard took a letter opener and sliced open the envelope. The contents made her anxious, but were unsurprising:

_ Lady Rhea, _

_ I am pleased to inform you that we located the enemy and were able to retrieve Sylvain. At the time this letter was written, all the students are safe and those with injuries are recovering well. Sylvain has relayed some concerning information, just as we suspected he would. He explained the details of the crest experiment he underwent. Unfortunately, this experiment was a success. Miklan Gautier has access to both the Crest of Gautier and the Lance of Ruin. In addition, he and his allies have made plans to attack the monastery. Please remain vigilant. Dimitri has just sent a letter by hawk asking Regent Rufus to apprehend Lady Cornelia as well. According to Sylvain, she was involved in all of this. We have agreed that having her arrested and questioned is the best course of action.  _

_ That brings me to another grim topic. After thinking over many leads and facts, Dimitri, Claude, and I have agreed that Edelgard is likely a spy. We have no conclusive proof, but the evidence for this is too troubling to ignore. I can explain in detail what I mean by this when I return, but I ask that you detain the princess somewhere safe. I hope that this can be settled peacefully, but the safety of the students is also a concern.  _

_ Finally, during the battle at the enemy’s stronghold, my appearance changed. I know that these changes have to do with the goddess. I will not delve into the details in this letter, but I want you to be aware of this. When I return, I wish to hold an audience with you and discuss the goddess and anything you may know of my past.  _

_ — Byleth _

Before class, Edelgard had taken a new sheet of paper and had written a replacement note:

_ Lady Rhea, _

_ I am writing to let you know that all is well. Our group has retrieved Sylvain and he is recovering. In order to give him time to rest, we will remain in Faerghus for another week before returning to Garreg Mach.  _

_ Unfortunately, he had no information to give us. He has little memory of what he experienced. When we return, we shall discuss all that transpired at the Gautier Margraviate in length.  _

_ — Byleth _

Luckily for Edelgard, Byleth had no seal of her own, and she always used whichever basic seal she could find to press the wax onto the envelope. This time, she’d used a seal bearing a simple lily design— she’d likely borrowed it from someone at the Gautier Manor. Naturally, Edelgard had her own seal depicting the twin-headed eagle of Adrestia. But she also had a number of plain seals that she used whenever she wanted to keep her messages unassuming. She’d selected a common seal bearing a sword— one she’d seen in shops all across Fodlan— and pressed it into the dollop of blue wax she’d dripped onto the envelope. Then she’d, with all the feigned concern and loyalty she could muster, delivered the fake letter to Rhea.

Now, she sat outside with Hubert on the training grounds, far from the academy. Classes had wrapped up for the evening and the other students had rushed to the dining hall and then to their dorms and house rooms to play cards, drink hot chocolate, and get ready to end their day. The sun began to sink past the horizon, casting the patchy foliage of the training grounds in pink light. When blue shadows finally stretched across the area and the fireflies woke up, Hubert started a fire. 

Edelgard read Byleth’s real letter one last time, at some point turning her attention from the meaning of the words and to the way they looked. Byleth’s handwriting was so clean and sharp, like what one would expect from a military leader. Edelgard had tried her best to duplicate it, but a fearful part of her worried that Rhea would notice. 

_ It’s no use fretting about it now _ , she thought, pressing her fingertips to the keen strokes of Byleth’s signature before tossing the parchment into the fire.

Hubert nodded as he watched the flames eat up the paper, turning it brown and then to cinders. 

“Good,” he said. “We are doing well. It does not matter what the professor knows if she cannot tell Rhea in time. Besides, now we have a time frame for when Dimitri’s letter was sent. Miklan and Cornelia can intercept that easily.”

Edelgard crossed her arms.

“Yes. I still… can’t help but feel a little anxious about all this. This ice we walk on is getting thinner and thinner.”

“It will not break before we make our move.” Hubert’s voice sounded so certain that Edelgard relaxed.

“I hope you are right. Perhaps we can secure Garreg Mach before Professor Byleth and the others even return. Then we can capture her group easily. He can have the Alliance and Kingdom surrender without much of a war.”

She knew from Hubert’s expression that she’d crossed the line from optimism to fantasy. But she felt as though she deserved a nice fantasy every few moons. 

Suddenly, Hubert went still— stiff as a turret. The way his yellow eyes narrowed and glinted in the falling night alarmed Edelgard. He’d sensed something. She removed a dagger, the one that she always kept with her, from her belt and held it at the ready, trying to listen. At last, she heard the slight crunch of dead vegetation sound off from somewhere to Hubert’s left. She intended to warn him, but he moved first and raised an arm and cast Mire B. A glyph glowed through the dark. Sticky, purple goop rolled across the ground. Someone let out a gasp and then two people hopped out into the open. 

Lorenz Gloucester and Ignaz Victor stumbled a bit, trying to avoid the mire and catch themselves before hitting the flames of the campfire which lit up their shocked faces. Finally, they regained some semblance of composure and Lorenz spoke.

“My, my! What a violent greeting!” 

Edelgard had never heard such forced nonchalance. 

Lorenz brushed dust off the rose on this coat and continued: “Ignatz and I saw your campfire and wanted to ask if you were up for a little get together tonight. The weather is just lovely and you’re already halfway set up.” He made a fist and swung his bent arm slightly. “You know. A little house-to-house bonding! Sounds just… lovely!”

_ They heard everything. _

Edelgard had been wary of Lorenz for some time. She knew that he’d received a warning from Claude about her. He’d been watching her closely and that had been fine… until now. Now, she had no desire to argue her innocence.

“Hubert,” she said. “Please take care of them.”

Without a word, Hubert swung his hand and produced  Miasma Δ  which threw Lorenz into the hard earth. Then, before Lorenz had a chance to rise, Hubert reproduced the spell, throwing it into the back of his skull. Lorenz went still. 

Hubert turned to Ignatz and pulled one leg back, ready to take chase. But Ignatz didn’t run; he only stared at Lorenz in horror before dropping to his knees at his friend’s side and raising a trembling hand. 

“L— LORENZ!” he cried. He looked from Hubert to Edelgard, his wide eyes further magnified by his glasses. “What have you done…” he said. “Y-you hurt him! Lorenz!” 

Ignatz finally placed a hand to his friend’s neck and his shoulders eased up as he noticed a pulse. Edelgard watched the boy’s fingers glow as he began to heal his friend. At that moment, Ignatz irritated her. If he’d tried, perhaps he could have made it back to the school. If he’d abandoned Lorenz… he may have had a hope at winning. But instead he’d been too caught up in what became of the fallen. This was a foolish, deadly weakness. The kind of weakness that held back progression.

Edelgard hit him with a single burst of dark magic and he fell— out cold. His glasses slipped off his nose and flew to the dirt near Lorenz’s hand. With a slight smirk, Hubert brought his boot down on the glasses, shattering both lenses. 

“Take them to Jeritza’s office,” Edelgard ordered. “And go find Leonie and Raphael. I will notify Cornelia and Miklan about the letter bound for Fhirdiad.”

*****

Inside the Fhirdiad castle were floors of smooth, white marble with delicate black veins. The walls stood twenty feet tall with arched windows that reached to the ceiling and revealed the city outside where couples strolled and children played with tops, wooden swords, and homemade dolls. Sapphire carpets and long, royal blue banners bearing the emblem of Faerghus added splashes of color to the pristine hallways. 

Unfortunately, this place reminded Miklan of the house he’d grown up in. In fact, the aesthetic made him half-wonder if the palace decorators had consulted his mother for ideas. With each step, Miklan thought more and more about the Gautier Manor where his family and the students from Garreg Mach were, probably enjoying tea and the lush gardens while planning their next move. The thought of that made him inexplicably jealous. 

“Welcome!”

Cornelia bunched up her skirt and came bounding towards him. A suppressed smirk flattened her pink lips. Miklan watched her approach him with her arms out and her shoulders and hips swaying relaxedly. 

“Shouldn’t we be more discrete?” said Miklan. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

Of course, he’d taken precautions. He’d left the Lance of Ruin in Enbarr and equipped a basic steel sword. With the bronze armor and tidy clothing Hubert had given him, he’d cleaned up nicely. He’d even brushed out his hair for the first time in months and tied it back; the white patches would stick out no matter what, but at least he wouldn’t immediately look like a brigand playing knight. 

Which is exactly what he was. 

“Don’t worry about it, Hon,” said Cornelia flicking a wrist. “You blend right in. People will think you’re a new hire.”

“I guess so.” 

He frowned when she called him “hon.” Here, Cornelia carried herself even more pretentiously than she did at Shambhala. The environment seemed to intoxicate her, make her think so highly of herself. Her vanity gushed through her words and posture, and she looked as though she were balancing something on her chin. 

“I hope your estimation is right.” Cornelia headed towards a window and peered out, assessing the square past the courtyard. Miklan, out of curiosity, looked as well. Two children fought over an unidentifiable toy. Finally, one of them released his grip too suddenly, letting the other child topple. Cornelia cackled as a woman— likely their mother— hurried towards the boys, scolding them.

“I’m confident,” Miklan told her. “It takes about four days for mail to go from Gautier to Fhirdiad. Edelgard got the professor’s letter four days ago and it said the prince’s letter was sent at the same time. I’m certain it will arrive at some point today.” He glanced around and then lowered his volume. “Where is the regent right now?”

“Entertaining a woman,” said Cornelia with a yawn. “If this is anything like the countless other times, he’ll be occupied for a bit. If you’re correct about the letter, then we have plenty of time.”

“Good.” Miklan backed away from the window then scowled. “He sounds like a fool…”

“He reminds you of someone, right?” Cornelia laughed and Miklan hated how easily she’d read him. “It’s actually quite common for nobles to play the field like that. Common women— and men— make it too easy.” She pushed off from the window, leaving hand prints which the staff would need to clean up later. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had an interest in  _ those _ kinds of activities.”

“Of course I have.” Miklan hoped his face hadn’t reddened. He knew Cornelia would sniff him out and play with him more if he wasn’t honest, so he tried to be blunt. “But I’m not going to be so immoderate about it. That’s how you get taken advantage of.”

“Very wise.” Cornelia giggled. “Well, come on. I’ll show you where his office is.” 

Rufus’ office was beautiful. Once again, it reminded Miklan of home. The white and blue color scheme was all too nostalgic. He passed by the walls looking at the rich oil paintings, admiring the detail. But one portrait on the end made him stop suddenly, as if shocked.

The image showed him, Sylvain and his parents… It showed the Blaiddyd and Fraldarius families as well… but Miklan’s eyes had gone straight to his own family. His hair, along with his mother and brother's, stuck out against the cobalt background while his father’s black hair blended in a bit more. Miklan couldn’t recall when this painting was done. He viewed himself and saw that he was no more than ten. Sylvain was only about two. In the painting, he was gripping their mother’s hand tightly and staring up at Lady Fraldarius’ swollen belly. Then, Miklan realized he  _ did  _ remember standing for the portrait. It had been a rare warm day, one during a Verdant Rain Moon. He did recall the artist saying that it was fine for Sylvain to look in another direction as long as he did so consistently. And, amazingly, he did. He hardly looked away from Lady Fraldarius the whole time. Miklan remembered the adults talking about how adorable it was afterwards.

  
  


_ “At least we know he’ll like your little one,” joked Florizel Gautier to Rodrigue Fraldarius.  _

_ “But it’s  _ my _ baby sibling!” shouted a young, squeaky-voiced Glenn. He hopped up and down, opening and closing his little fists, until his mother took his hand. _

_ “Of course,” Florizel bowed with a little smile. “And you will be a good big brother.” _

_ Glenn seemed satisfied with that. His eyes swept from his mother’s belly to Sylvain and then to Queen Yula’s own pregnant stomach. His expression became so contemplative that his own father began to chuckle. _

_ “He’s wondering how he’s going to take care of all these babies,” said Rodrigue. _

_ “I’m not a baby!” Sylvain cried, puffing out his cheeks indignantly.  _

_ “You are right. My apologies.” Rodrigue pat the top of Sylvain’s head with a little smile.  _

_ King Lambert stepped up and wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder, watching his friends and their children with pride. Though, his eyes never stopped on Miklan who kept to the corner of the room as he waited for his parents to finish talking so that they could go home.  _

_ “Iris Galatea is also with child,” the king mused. “My, there must have been something in the water this year.”  _

_ He squeezed his wife and she playfully bat him on the shoulder. _

_ “Lambert!” _

  
  


“What a darling portrait,” said Cornelia, interrupting Miklan’s thoughts. “It’s a shame the queen died not long afterwards. I’m sure the real Cornelia was devastated.” She pressed her hand to the smirk forming on her face.

“I remember her death,” Miklan muttered, too lost in the memory to even ask questions about the real Lady Cornelia, someone he knew the Agarthans had killed long ago. “My mother started to cry when she got word about it. That made my brother cry. But my father wouldn’t let him stay with her; he made me take him away. That just made him panic more and try to cling on to me. It was ridiculous.  _ I  _ wasn’t his damn father.”

Miklan stared at the portrait, particularly at Florizel Gautier. Even the man’s smiles were dutiful. In the painting, he had one hand on Miklan’s shoulder, and Miklan couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been proud of him at that moment… Or if he’d just been keeping up appearances.

_ Better to believe the second one. You did kill him after all.  _ Miklan told himself

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

Miklan turned to see a hawk at the window. It hit the front of its beak against the glass a few more times.

“Perfect!” said Cornelia, unfastening the brass clasp of the window. She took an envelope from the hawk’s talons and stroked the raptor under its head with one nail as she read:

_ Uncle, _

_ I hope you are well. I have not yet had the chance to thank you for your help in handling the situation in the Gautier Margraviate. You have my sincerest gratitude for your quick aid. The people of the margraviate are grateful for the extra soldiers you sent. Since then, we have retrieved both Lady Gautier and Sylvain Gautier who was captured shortly after. However, I have some grave news. Sylvain has told us that he is certain that Lady Cornelia played a role in the recent attacks. As of now, I have no reason to doubt his testimony. Please take Lady Cornelia into custody and hold her until we can begin an investigation. I will return to Garreg Mach to handle some business there before briefly returning to Fhirdiad.  _

_ signed, _

_ Dimitri _

“Now this won’t do!” said Cornelia after she’d finished. She tapped her fingers on the desk. “I think sending a letter back to the prince will suffice. Something to give him a sense of security for a while, don’t you think?”

Miklan shrugged.

Cornelia folded the parchment. “Oh, I have big plans for that little boy. Very fun ones.”

Her eyes were so full of malice and cruel delight that Miklan had to ask:

“Are you still angry about Kronya’s death?”

The subject hadn’t come up nearly as much as Miklan thought it would have. He’d begun to wonder if the Agarthans were really as close as he’d thought. 

“Not particularly,” Cornelia told him with a shrug. “That was an unfortunate loss. But nothing to lose sleep over. We all understood the dangers of going against the Church and their servants. A death here and there is inevitable. Even the princess agrees with that.”

Miklan couldn’t argue that point. Cornelia was right: deaths  _ were _ inevitable and necessary. The Agarthans, Edelgard, and Miklan himself— they’d all accepted them. Still, Miklan knew that Edelgard would dwell on her losses a bit longer than Cornelia. He knew the death of someone like Hubert would hang over the princess for more than a few hours. 

“I’m going to report back to Lady Edelgard,” he said. “I’ll let you handle things here.”

He walked towards the center of the office, past the oil paintings. Taking one last look at his littler self whose face still looked so solemn even in the artwork, Miklan warped back to Adrestia. 


	33. Beyond the Horned Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This new chapter has officially brought us past 100K words. To all you who have made it this far, I thank you so much! It's so great to know that people find my writing intriguing! m(_ _)m

Quickly, Sylvain graduated from eating soups and progressed back solid food. He was thrilled to be able eat normal meals again— especially because Ashe and Dedue had both been in such good moods lately and their dishes reflected that optimism. Their high spirits spread like wildfire, particularly infecting Ingrid who loved their cooking more than anyone.

“These are the best sandwiches I’ve ever had in my whole life,” she said before scarfing one down.

“We made a ton! Have as many as you want!” Ashe told her as he passed a bowl of peaches and cream to Lysithea. 

“This is… really wonderful,” said Dimitri, staring at the tower of pheasant sandwiches at the center of the table. For the past two days, he’d seemed a bit distant and lost, probably worrying about the situations with Edelgard and Cornelia. He’d barely initiated conversation and, lately, his reactions had been a bit delayed. Sylvain was glad just to hear him comment without anyone prompting him. 

Dimitri’s statement, of course, pleased Dedue as well. He showed a small smile.

“Many of the servants in the kitchen helped too. We had a good time together.”

“The sad part is that we’re going to have to go back to eating Garreg Mach’s food!” Hilda stretched and gulped down a glass of cider. “It’s not bad, but it’s going to taste so bland in comparison. If only we had a way to save some for Lorenz and the others. It’s too bad.”

“It does seem pretty unfair,” said Claude, a sneaky grin forming on his lips. “I guess this just means we should hold a few feasts when we get back. So they can be included.”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “Must you make _everything_ a reason to feast? Claude, parties will lose their meaning if you have them all the time.” 

“Hey. Every feast we’ve had was for a very special occasion.”

“Really? What about that time we had a feast because Professor Byleth caught a Fodlandy? Or that time we had a feast because it was Dorte’s birthday? Or the feast to celebrate Hilda cleaning the armory by herself?” 

Lysithea began to count off on her fingers, all the while staring pointedly at Claude.

“Your point? Those are all very good reasons.”

“Dorte really appreciated it…” Marianne stared down and her hands, but couldn’t stop from letting out a short, breathy giggle. “... We probably shouldn’t do that again though. Seteth was so mad that we let a horse into the house room”

“Ugh, your house sounds like tons of fun,” said Sylvain, sending a smirk in Dimitri’s direction. 

“Well, naturally,” replied Claude. “It does have the best leader.”

“You’re not going to bait me into anything, Claude.” Dimitri took a sip of his cider, perhaps to hide a smile. At least, Sylvain hoped that was the reason; he still couldn’t help but feel a certain turbulence within his friend that he hoped some fun and food could calm.

“Speaking of house leaders…”

Dimitri hadn’t been the only one with low spirits lately; Felix also seemed to have something eating away at him. He’d agreed to be honest with Sylvain and Ingrid, and Sylvain got the sense that he’d been trying to keep that promise. But he had something on his mind that not even he could articulate well. 

“Felix.” Annette’s browns knit. “What else can we do… about that? About… her… I mean...”

He blew air through his nose. “I’m not sure. I feel like we should be keeping better tabs on Garreg Mach. If that woman is as dangerous as we think, why are we still here and not trying to get back as fast as we can?”

“It’s not as if we’ve done nothing,” Claude reminded him. “Rhea should have received our letter by now. Earlier, Dimitri said that, if Cornelia was smart, she would have run the moment we saved Sylvain. I think the same about Edelgard. If she’s planning war, she would have retreated back to Adrestia. And if she’s innocent, we can figure out what’s going on when we get back. Besides…” He cracked his knuckles. “Lorenz and I have kept in contact. If anything happens, the Deer at Garreg Mach will be ready. I even sent him an additional letter yesterday. We’re covered at the academy.”

“How about writing to your parents, Felix?” suggested Ingrid. “They keep in touch with Lord Rufus, right? Maybe your father can lend some additional security to the capital. And, well, we might need to warn him about Lady Cornelia anyway. Since they work so closely together.”

Felix nodded. 

“You’re right about one thing,” Claude admitted. “Let’s start travelling tomorrow. It’s best if we can help investigate Garreg Mach ourselves. Lysithea, Dimitri, Sylvain, do you three think you’re up to travel?”

“Of course I am,” said Lysithea. “There’s nothing difficult about a wagon ride. I’m not made of sand.”

“I am ready to move as well,” said Dimitri. Perhaps involuntarily, his hand reached around and touched where his stitches had been. “It’s mostly healed. Just a bit sore.”

“I’m fine too!” said Sylvain. “All I really needed was some sleep and food. Trust me, I’m fresh as a daisy.”

That was mostly the truth. He really was feeling much better now. Mercedes and Marianne’s magic had helped immensely. Still… he wasn’t feeling exactly back to where he was before his time in Shambhala. He knew he needed to gain more weight back and that he needed to start training again. But Lysithea had been right: there was nothing hard about riding around in a wagon for a few days.

“Excellent,” said Claude. “Let’s pack tonight and start back tomorrow morning.”

  
  


*****

Edelgard bowed before the throne. 

Watching the ceremony from the floor blow the marble stairs, Miklan admired the firm way she carried herself. She wore a traditional Adrestian coronation cloak. It was made of garnet-colored velvet and had the emblem of Adrestia embroidered into the back with golden thread. At the bottom of the cloak were dozens of little ruby and gold tassels. Beneath the robe, she wore a simple black, silk dress and a golden brooch of an eagle which fastened the collar. As she knelt, the tassels brushed against the floor. 

The last two days had sped by for Miklan until they had eventually landed him here, in the emperor’s audience chamber, feeling dizzy from all the fragrant incense burning by the walls. Their group had finalized the details of their assault on Garreg Mach, and Edelgard had introduced Miklan to her other generals who now stood with him and Hubert, bearing witness to the coronation. 

The first general had introduced himself simply as “Metodey”; he had the sharp smile of a fox and always looked hungry to Miklan. Jertiza von Hyrm was the name of the second man. His long stares and the way he drawled whenever he spoke (which was rare) managed to unsettle even Miklan. Finally, the third man was the most normal of the bunch. In fact, he seemed so normal that Miklan wasn’t sure if he was trustworthy at first. He’d seemed just far too straight-laced to run with a crowd that included Miklan, Hubert, Metodey, and Jeritza. When they’d met, the man had politely introduced himself as Randolph von Bergliez. The final general was a woman named Ladislava, but Miklan had seen very little of her. Now, she stood outside the emperor’s audience chambers, keeping guard. 

“Father.” Edelgard spoke at last. “Please allow me to ask for forgiveness before you continue. I would not have asked for my birthright before your passing… had I not found it necessary.”

“My daughter.” Emperor Ionius did not smile physically, but Miklan could hear it in his voice and could understand that the old man was too weak to ever show such affection. Something had happened to him in the past, something that cast a permanent, heavy depression over him, a joylessness that could never be cured. He felt pride, perhaps even relief, now but was unable to let anyone know that by anything more than a few rises in his tone. “I understand you and the path you walk. Most of all, I understand your urgency. And my own mortality. I do not have much time left in this world.”

Edelgard bent her head lower and curtains of white hair fell over her shoulders. 

“I will care for you until the end, Father. And I will allow you to see at least a partially changed world before your time comes. For now, I am ready.”

The emperor extended his hands, raising a golden crown above his daughter’s head. Even from a distance, Miklan could see that the golden headdress resembled horns.

“Edelgard von Hresvelg… the crown is yours. By the covenant between red blood and white sword, and by the double-headed eagle upon your head, I hereby pronounce you the new emperor. Are you prepared to take those responsibilities as your own?”

“In accordance with the ancient covenant,” said Edelgard, “and in keeping with the Hresvelg legacy… I swear that, upon this throne, I shall use my reign to lead Fodlan to a new dawn and achieve peace for all.”

Emperor Ionius IX lowered the crown.

“The Imperial succession is complete.” He fell back into his throne, taxed by the ritual. “I apologize… that I could not do more… Edelgard…”

She rose. “It is enough.”

Facing the generals, the new emperor breathed in the perfumed air. She undid the clasp on her cloak and flexed her shoulders. 

_BAM!_

The doors to the audience chambers burst open and a stout man with a balding head and orange moustache came in, breathing heavily. Close behind chased Ladislava. With fury, she snatched the back of the man’s collar and tugged at him.

“What— what is the meaning of this, this audacity!?” cried the man. “Where is the emperor?! Why was I denied entry?! It’s…” He trailed off upon seeing Edelgard, dressed in the opulent cloak with the horned crown atop her head.

“What in the goddess’ name…”

“It is exactly what it looks like, Duke Aegir,” she said, shrugging off the cloak and letting it fall at her father’s feet. For the short duration of time Miklan had known Edelgard, she’d been mostly cold and controlled. She’d snapped at the Agarthans when they’d first appeared in Enbarr and again when Cornelia had spoken so gleefully about the upcoming war. But now, she looked as though she were moments away from coming undone. Miklan had never seen such furious eyes. “I’m afraid I’ve taken your puppet away from you. My father no longer has political authority. I am the emperor.”

“This is madness!” spat the duke.

“No.” Edelgard walked towards him. “What is madness is how long you held power over _my_ people. And now that ends. You are hereby stripped of your title and power. And you will be held here until news of my coronation is made public. Ladislava. Metodey. Restrain him, please.”

Metodey shot forward, before Edelgard’s last syllable had even ended. The former duke reacted quicker than Miklan thought possible— he looked so out of shape and already winded from storming up to the congregation. However, before Aegir could completely avoid Metodey’s grasp, Ladislava caught him from behind and forced his wrists together behind his back.

Aegir sputtered out: “You can’t just— you cant just do this! It’s an abuse of power! It’s—” 

He stopped when Edelgard lurched forward. She wound back her arm and was mere moments away from striking him across the face when she collected herself. Straightening and regaining her icy composure, she said,

“Get him out of my sight immediately. Throw him in the dungeons below the castle.” Her eyes narrowed. “I will remind you once, Ludwig Aegir. If you resist my command or your imprisonment, then you are committing treason against the Crown. And that is grounds for execution. I am serious.”

Though he let out a short squeak, Aegir didn’t argue. He, his pudgy face growing redder and redder with distress, watched Edelgard as he was hauled from the room by Metodey and Ladislava. When they vanished into the hall, Edelgard sighed and stared at the tips of her shoes for just a moment. The stained glass windows in the audience chamber threw patches of red and orange light into her pale hair and inky black gown. She was the color of a burnt forest, charred and spotted with lingering tongues of flame. Coated in white smoke. 

Her eyes weakened as she turned back to look at her father.

“Everyone. Give us some time alone,” she ordered. 

Hubert bowed at the waist and led the others away. But, despite his better judgement, Miklan turned to glance back at the new emperor. She had already reached the throne and knelt beside it, holding her father’s wrinkled hand. Her face creased, then her expression fell into one that Miklan wished he hadn’t seen. It revealed a kind of pain that he didn’t understand, an invisible laceration within her that only her father could comprehend. 

Miklan left the chamber with Hubert, Jeritza, and Randolph. The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, sealing in all the sounds and the strong incense of the audience chamber behind the oak. Almost immediately, Jeritza warped off.

“I should check on those you placed under my supervision,” he’d drawled to Hubert, before vanishing in a burst of violet and with no other farewell. 

Hubert must have seen confusion cross Miklan’s face because he said,

“We captured some nosy students at Garreg Mach. Nothing to worry about. Let’s see. Randolph, come with me. We will find my father and Varley. They are also staying at the palace for now. I’d like to place them with Aegir before they can go snooping around. Miklan, wait here. If Lady Edelgard comes out before we return, I want you to explain where we’ve gone and be there should she have any instructions.”

The image Edelgard’s expression still plastered onto his brain, Miklan only managed a silent nod. He watched Hubert lead Randolph away and listened to their boots on the polished floor as they headed farther and farther into the torch-lit corridor.

Edelgard emerged from the audience chamber after about fifteen minutes, her cloak draped over her arm. The whites of her eyes had just a touch of red in them. Miklan pretended not to notice it, but also… didn’t know what to say in place of concern. He hadn’t worked for Edelgard for long and years of contempt for authority didn’t melt off easily. Bows and thoughtful remarks did not come naturally. But she seemed to notice this.

“Walk with me.”

Miklan did as she asked. They headed down the hall and he listened to the crackle of the torches and the sounds of their footsteps. His had always been heavy and purposeful; he always fell all the way back to his heel as he walked. Edelgard’s steps were lighter, but just as purposeful and rhythmic. As they approached the stairs, she finally spoke to him,

“Hubert told me that you were wondering why, I, a high-ranking noble, would wish to overthrow the Church and do away with the crest system.”

“I was curious… yeah…”

She started up the stairs, glancing back at him once. Grabbing the railing, she passed her robes to the other arm.

“Though I’m hesitant to speak about my past… I’ll tell you. Perhaps doing so is stupid of me— it is not like me to reveal so much to someone I just met— but I’m curious too… of your opinions. We’re alike, but also completely different.”

“How so?” For some reason, Miklan felt a wave of nausea pass from his throat to his gut. 

“Well, unlike you, I loved my family dearly. I had ten siblings.” 

Edelgard turned, looked over her shoulder, and chuckled immediately at the face Miklan made. But he was far too stunned to even be embarrassed.

“Ten?” he said. “How did you deal with _that_?”

“As I said…” The humored expression dropped slowly from her face. “I loved them all. Of course, we had disagreements here and there, but we cared for each other enough to work through them. I was not ‘dealing’ with anything. They enriched my life.”

“I see. I have a very different perspective on siblings.” Miklan frowned. “So… how’d they die?”

He knew he sounded too blunt; most people would have waltzed gently around the topic until they found a proper, articulate opening. But he saw no point in doing that when Edelgard’s tone and her use of past tense painted so clear a picture. She seemed to appreciate his forthrightness at least, she allowed him to open the door to her study for her and she invited him to sit at one of the lounge chairs opposite her. 

She didn’t answer him right away. She glanced through a long window behind her desk and at the stars that were just beginning to appear through the light as the afternoon transformed into evening. 

“That is our first similarity,” she said at last. “Enduring the Agarthan’s experiments side by side with family. The circumstances were just different.”

Miklan, internally, cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. Her hair was as white— as white as the streaks in his own hair. And she was working closely with Thales and the other. She _was_ one of the two experiments they’d mentioned. Cornelia had implied that much earlier when she’d told Edelgard that she should thank the Agarthans for her power… The situation seemed so clear now. Miklan had simply been too wrapped up in all the new sights, tasks, and people to think critically about all of it. 

“They put a crest in you?” he said. “Was it the same way as what happened to Sylvain and me?”

She shook her head. 

“It wasn’t a transfer of a single crest between two people. It was an implantation. And because I’d already had a crest naturally…” She lowered her eyes to her palms and they lit up, projecting a crest in each. Miklan knew that one was the Crest of Seiros— the crest that House Hresvelg was known for. But the second… he recognized only from the image Thales had shown them of the Garreg Mach Professor. He had no idea what it was called or where it had come from, but it gave off a different energy than the Crest of Gautier or the Crest of Seiros. In fact, it burned with an even more arcane light than the only major crest Miklan had seen, the Major Crest of Fraldarius that both Felix and Glenn possessed. 

“Having two crests...” Her voice was a whisper now as she flicked her wrists and snuffed the light. “...makes me stronger than most of my enemies. I am thankful for that. But that never made any of this worth it to me. It was never worth watching my brothers and sisters die. And it was never worth what happened to my father. He could have lived a long, healthy life. But the pain of watching his children die again and again… it was too much. He doesn’t have long left to live. Soon, I will be the last Hresvelg. A crest is not worth that. But it was to people like Duke Aegir. He knew what the Agarthans were doing to us and he and the other empire nobles supported it. Because this culture of Fodlan told them that this was better than the lives of children.”

Her arms twitched and the cloak slipped off and fell against the dark floorboards with a sudden thud. Wrinkles appeared between her eyes. Watching this, Miklan felt cold. Now, he did want to waltz. He wanted to avoid the question that had just cropped up in his head… and, yet, he wanted an answer.

“Why don’t you hate me then?” he asked. “You were a child. You didn’t ask for that. I did. And I volunteered the one sibling I do have for it. He lived while all ten of the brothers and sisters you actually loved died. I’m no different from Aegir, right? So… why are you… treating me this way?”

“I _did_ hate you,” she admitted. “When I realized who you were working with and what you intended to do with Sylvain, it was like a scar reopened. Admittedly, I thought about finding a way to kill you. But then a couple of things occurred to me… The first was that I am not so different. Though I do not like it, I have agreed to use crest beasts against Garreg Mach. I agreed to sacrifice and use people because enough is enough.” 

She stood and picked up the cloak, setting it on her desk. Taking a candle from near a stack of parchment, she lit it with a tiny burst of magical flame. 

“Should we all stand by,” she asked, “as Church doctrine ruins our lives? Rhea says that the goddess wants peace. But that is a lie, a collar and a leash. The Church preaches things that harm droves of people every day and they preach this doctrine of peace so that the most oppressed cannot bring themselves to stand up. Fodlan is not peaceful. Yet they place responsibility for retaining the peace on us. I defy that logic. Turmoil _cannot_ be met with peace. The only reason that notion exists is to keep the Church strong. And us weak. Miklan, I still hate what you did. But I sympathize with it. I believe you could have had loving parents and a brother that you cared for in the way that I cared for my own brothers. But Seiros tenets infected House Gautier long ago and taught them to abandon people like you. And I refuse to fall into this trap of believing that… those who fight back are evil.”

In that moment, Edelgard’s lavender eyes and the way her face loosened as she watched him, looked very beautiful to Miklan. Nobody had shared a perspective anything like that with him before. Not even his friends had. They’d cared enough to listen to Miklan and offer chirps of agreement. But they’d never considered things as deeply as Edelgard did. Her words made him feel like he was worth something. Like he wasn’t a mistake. He wanted to form a sentence that did any of his emotions justice and struggled to do so. All he could manage was,

“That means a lot. Seriously.”

“I am glad. I’ve mentioned this before… but your actions were very misplaced. I will do whatever it takes to tear the Church down. But I will not commit atrocities that do not contribute to that end, no matter how high my emotions are running.”

“Fine,” said Miklan. “Going after the margraviate doesn’t even interest me anymore. Just point towards the enemy, and I’ll destroy them.” 

She chuckled. “Good. I intend to help you take back your life, Miklan.”

Miklan almost left things on that note. He felt so energized, so ready to fight. He believed in this war. Abusing the people of the margraviate, his mother, and his brother had been emotionally satisfying at one point. But now he had direction, a goal to place all his displeasure into. Briefly, he wished he’d been better with words… if he’d been better at explaining… could he have made Sylvain understand before? Could he have salvaged something from his past, even if all the bridges had been reduced to cinders? Now, with Edelgard, Miklan didn’t feel nearly as lost and drowning in his own purposelessness as he had at Shambhala. But just a few of his regrets remained… difficult to shake. 

“Lady Edelgard?”

The office door opened and Hubert peeked in. When he saw Edelgard and Miklan, his concerned frown flattened. He became as stoic as ever.

“I was just explaining a few things,” Edelgard said. “Where did you, Randolph, and Jeritza go off to?”

Hubert glared at Miklan. Though the look triggered an eye roll from Miklan, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that he’d never told Edelgard where her other retainers had gone.

“My bad, I guess,” he said. “I forgot.”

“Jeritza went to check on the Deer,” Hubert explained. “Randolph and I found my father and Varley and put them away.”

“Good. Thank you.” Edelgard pressed her palms to the desk behind her and leaned back. “We have very little left to do…” Her voice quieted open-endedly and she seemed to stare past Miklan and Hubert for a moment. 

“Prepare the army to march,” she said.   
  
  



	34. Beyond the Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy August, everyone! If you play FEH, this means the CYL units are coming soon. 
> 
> I can't wait for my Brave Claude! I have almost 550 orbs saved up for him because he is best boy. :3
> 
> Anyway, you may have noticed, but the countdown has begun! I'll explain more about that next time.

The students readied themselves to set off at dawn, taking two wagons with them this time— one for the Deer and one for the Lions. 

Sylvain stared at his friends, watching as they packed underneath a patchy blanket of dark clouds. In that moment, he lost his grasp on time. Their trip to the Gautier Margraviate felt as though it had just happened; Sylvain could see, even feel, each detail. Felix had snapped at him for failing to notice two waving women, they’d all teased Annette for her singing, and they’d spoken seriously about what they’d find at the margraviate.

And even so… those memories felt as though they were years, even decades, old. He felt as though he’d lived a whole lifetime in that dark room in the Agarthan base. Back then, he’d been like an insect in a spider’s web. His friends had cut him free, but he could still feel the sticky residue of the silk. And he didn’t think it would ever truly come off. That silk was the empty space inside him where his crest had once been and it was each biting word he and Miklan had spoken to each other. All of that was impossible to shrug off. It stuck. 

“Are you all right?” Ingrid touched his hand, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“I think so…” 

She watched him with sea foam eyes that Sylvain thought looked a little lost. He knew she had no idea what to tell him. In an odd sort of way… he couldn’t help but appreciate her expression and take comfort in the fact that she cared enough about him to make such a sad face. That eased him more than words would. He took her hand in his. Under other circumstances, maybe she would have rolled her eyes and nudged him away. But now she stretched her fingers through the gaps between his own. 

“You’d think I’d worry about you less with age,” she said with an almost silent laugh. “But you always give me more reasons to worry. I guess I’m stuck looking after you forever.”

“Hm, you know… If that’s what it takes to stay friends, I guess I’ll just have to be an absolute disaster for the rest of my life.”

Ingrid chuckled. 

“Sylvain!”

Phoebe Gautier bounded towards them. Sylvain had wanted to speak with her when he’d woken up, but he hadn’t been able to find her. One of the guards said she’d walked off towards the cemetery. Now, Sylvain could see white petals stuck to her spruce blue dress. 

“We will wait for you,” said Dimitri, watching Lady Gautier slow down and come to a stop in front of Sylvain. “Come back to the wagon as soon as you can.”

With a nod, Sylvain followed his mother off to the side and they spoke in hushed tones.

“Do you really have to go back?” she asked him. “I’m sure the archbishop will understand if you spend a few months here.”

“She’d be okay with it,” Sylvain agreed. “But I just can’t… I want to be with my friends and I want to see the officer’s academy again.”

“It’s a happy place for you,” she said with a sigh of acceptance. She lowered her eyes to the grass and spoke with a melancholy tone. “Better than here at home.” 

“Mother…”

“You don’t have to dilute the truth. Your father and I did that for too many years. And the truth caught up with us. It cost him his life.” She blinked up at the dim sky a few times, drinking in the misty air. “I think I managed to be a good mother sometimes. I really do. But I should have thought less highly of myself. I should have listened or… at least seen that neither you or Miklan felt loved.” Her breaths became more staggered as they strained to hold back sobs. “Even now, I admit that I can’t stop wishing your crest would come back and that you’d agree to become the margrave immediately. I’m still thinking about all the plans I’d made for you.” 

“Makes sense,” Sylvain muttered. “People don’t change that quickly.”

“You’re right. In a way. But I also feel as though I change by the second. I still don’t know how I’m supposed to think about Miklan. I go from wishing he was dead to blaming myself for his actions to… to just feeling numb.” 

She stopped talking in order to brush some petals off her skirt.

“Did you visit Father’s grave?” Sylvain asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“That’s good…” Sylvain suddenly felt guilty. “I couldn’t bring myself to. I saw him when we first arrived and it…”

“It was a lot to handle,” she said. “I understand. I was there when he… when…” 

Her eyes dulled. She blinked up at the sky again. 

“Mother,” said Sylvain. “I think that I feel the same way you do about Miklan.” He took a deep breath. “I hate him. I really do. Before all this, I still kind of hoped that, someday, he’d come around and apologize, and things would be all fixed. But he went so far beyond that point. And still, I can’t stop thinking about all these little things that happened in the past. I remember him pushing me into a well in the forest and leaving me there overnight. You and father weren’t dumb. You knew what he’d done when you found me. I probably should have just let you punish him. But I was scared. I was scared of losing all hope that we could be friends. Even back then, I knew there was a point beyond return and I was scared of crossing it. And… there were also so many times I thought I’d gotten through to him. He… he asked me if I remembered the night he turned fifteen. I think that was one of those times.”

She placed a hand to her mouth. “That was the year I forgot,” she said. She didn’t say more than that, but her brow furrowed as she kept her palm to her lips. 

“I thought I’d succeeded,” said Sylvain, staring at the toes of his boots. “I thought he finally liked me. But the next morning, things had just gone back to normal. He was horrible and mean. And, now, just thinking about him makes me just… just want to scream. But, I don’t think I regret being kind to him then. I’m thankful for that memory.” 

His mother nodded. Sylvain wondered if she was thinking about her memory of the bluebells again and how she’d destroyed all proof that it had ever happened. He didn’t think his mother would ever find a “right” way to balance her hatred of her son with those affectionate recollections of him. Even Sylvain felt so contradictory in his own feelings. He believed Miklan was a bad person, that he had a streak of wickedness that nobody else was to blame for. But he also believed that his brother had deserved better than what life had given him. Reconciling all the facts and faults of the situation… it was too confusing for Sylvain. 

Standing on her toes, Sylvain’s mother hugged him. For a moment, he stood stiffly. Then, he reciprocated. She smelled like sugar and rhubarb again, just like she had when he was little. The perfume made him want to close his eyes and think about the past, when he was littler and the problems of House Gautier were like background noise… long before they’d gone beyond fixing. 

Sylvain pulled himself away with a weak smile. 

“Before you go,” said Lady Gautier, her eyes briefly darting to the wagons. “Can you… forgive me? Even if I still am not a perfect mother? I just don’t… want to leave things this way.”

He nodded. 

“I do forgive you. And I think I understand you better now than I ever have.” He began to walk to the wagons, turning briefly to give her a final wave. “Take care, Mother. I’ll write.”

Then he left her and that home which had grown just a tad brighter. Still, it was a dark place compared to the monastery where warmth permeated the halls, and the smells of incense and verona carried even more joy for Sylvain than sugar and rhubarb. 

During the ride back, Sylvain understood how his friends had felt when they’d traveled to the margraviate. When he looked at Dimitri, he felt a lump form in his stomach. The Prince of Faerghus stared at some point in the distance, but the glaze over his eyes proved he wasn’t truly seeing any of his surroundings. And he kept silently mumbling something to himself. His lips moved in all the same patterns without even a single note of sound. 

Finally, Felix spoke up. 

“Are you going to just sit there and creep us all out the whole way back?”

At first Dimitri didn’t seem to realize Felix was speaking to him; Sylvain wondered if he’d even processed what had been said. But, when the silence stretched on for a few moments and Dimitri turned to see all eyes on him, he blinked.

“Ah… I… what did you say?” 

Felix crossed his arms. 

“Tell us what’s going on, Dimitri. I’m sick of looking at your face when it’s that pathetic.”

“I think you could certainly benefit from talking things through with us,” said Dedue. He glared at Felix. “But do not feel pressured.” 

“It’s about Edelgard… Isn’t it?” said Mercedes. Her voice had dipped into an even gentler tone than usual, one she employed whenever someone needed comforting. “Are you two close? I’m sorry. I knew you were friends, but I still need help understanding how you’re feeling. Will you speak to us about it?”

Dimitri looked reluctant at first. He pinched the bridge of his nose and watched his knees for a moment. Then, he finally relented.

“Edelgard and I were much closer in the past. Years ago. We’ve since drifted apart. One summer when we were both just children, she came to stay in the kingdom. Our families had… an arrangement that I am not ready to speak on now. While she lived here, we played together quite frequently. Even until sundown on some days.”

“Hold on.” Sylvain rubbed his chin. “This is actually sounding familiar. I do sort of remember you telling Ingrid, Felix, and me when she went home… That’s right! You said you gave her a knife!”

“A dagger,” chimed in Ingrid. “I recall that as well. We joked about what an odd gift that was. We told you that you’d probably spooked her.”

“Yes. That is correct. And I would rather not relive your teasing,” said Dimitri, shaking his head. “But… that is why I am so concerned. If Edelgard is involved with these murderers and with Miklan… Well, I’ve been considering something. After we discussed the likelihood of crest experimentation, Dedue and I spoke about Duscur. For some time, I’ve been wondering if that was part of something bigger. Now, I’m almost certain it was. The Duscurs had no reason to harm me, my step-mother, or my father. And years later, Rodrigue found more proof of this. In fact, he took Felix and me and we…”

Suddenly, Sylvain remembered Felix’s testimony and his explanation for why he called Dimitri a “boar.” Now, that was lining up with Dimitri’s own recollections. And the uncomfortability on the prince’s face confirmed that Felix had been telling the truth on the matter. 

“You lost your mind,” said Felix. “When you saw just a thread of evidence that these people had caused the tragedy and implicated Duscur, you became a boar.”

“Can you blame me?” mumbled Dimitri. “These people killed my parents. And, if they’d gotten their way, I’d be dead too. So would Dedue. And, even now, the Duscur people are on the verge of extinction and persecuted on top of that. And I’m beginning to think this wasn’t an isolated incident. Dedue mentioned that he thought our enemy’s plot to take Sylvain’s crest was one step towards war. And I believe that about the monsters we saw in the margraviate as well. Sylvain even claimed he’d heard about a future attack on Garreg Mach. I don’t think any of this is without purpose. And I’m worried that… Edelgard is part of that purpose as well. And I’m questioning why she…”

He trailed off. 

“We’ll talk to her,” said Ashe. “We’ll give her a chance to prove her innocence. No… We’ll see if we can prove her guilt. And if she was involved in this, then we’ll bring justice.”

“If she was involved in this,” said Dimitri, his voice slowly rising. “She’s responsible for my parents’ deaths and pushing Fodlan to so much pointless slaughter!” 

“Dimitri, please.” Ingrid glanced at the front of the wagon where Annette steered. She’d quickly looked back when Dimitri had shouted. “We’re trying to help,” Ingrid went on. “And.. is this truly possible? You were ten when the tragedy happened. Edelgard wasn’t much older. She can’t have orchestrated it.”

“Perhaps not,” said Dimitri. “But she could have been a little spy. And she can certainly choose to benefit off of it now. It’s the same crime as far as I’m concerned. Those who enable killers are killers themselves.”

“A time will come when we can sort this out,” said Mercedes. “But that time is not now. We have no power to change anything at the moment. Let’s save our energy for when we need to approach this issue.” 

Dimitri pursed his lips; briefly, they turned white. He looked back at the scenery. A few trees created a canopy over the rode and spotted his face with shadows and light. His expression soured but, at least, his mumbling had stopped. 

Suddenly, Sylvain felt lethargic. Just talking about such unpleasantries had zapped his strength. He wanted to get back to Garreg Mach as soon as possible so he could return to his bed and soak in all the comforting sights and smells of his favorite place on earth. As long as he could see the monastery again… he could deal with anything. 

After a few days' journey, the monastery showed up over the hill. Its stone turrets were like beacons, encouraging travelers during their final stretch. Sylvain couldn’t help himself; he stood, grasping the side of the wagon for support and flashed his teeth at the people in the market. He waved to the merchants and then to the Deer who were ahead of them. Hilda flourished both her arms. 

The market was as lively as usual but… as they drew nearer… Sylvain could tell something was wrong at the gate.

The gatekeeper’s expression was laced with concern and he moved his arms erratically as he spoke to Dorthea and Caspar who both kept interrupting him to ask questions. When the wagons stopped at the staircase, Dorothea noticed them and quickly left the gatekeeper. She rushed down the steps and headed right for Claude. Pressing her palms to the side of the wagon, she said:

“Claude! Are Lorenz, Leonie, Ignatz, and Raphael with you?”

Caspar ran up behind her and jumped a few times, trying to peek inside the wagon.

“What?” said Claude. He looked torn between whether he should laugh or not. “No. Why on earth would they be?

Dorothea and Caspar shared a look. They weren’t surprised… But they seemed as though they’d been holding back panic and now they couldn’t any longer.

“They’ve been missing!” blurted Caspar. “For like _days_. Lorenz left a letter in the Golden Deer room saying you’d asked them to come meet you halfway home. But Dorothea and I both thought that was pretty bizarre. I mean, Raphael and me had plans to go work out. And that guy wouldn’t bolt without letting me know. It’s just not like him. He keeps his commitments as best as he can.”

Sylvain’s heart stopped for a moment and he stared at the Deer. Claude stood up suddenly; he rarely widened his eyes, but now they were huge— like two green marbles. Hilda went stiff and her lips parted. Beside her, Lysithea and Marianne both paled, as if a sudden nausea had passed over them both. Most concerningly, Byleth grasped the front of the bench, digging her nails into the wood. 

“And Leonie had asked me to stop by her room with some old gowns I didn’t want anymore. She wanted the material,” said Dorothea, swallowing. She bounced an arm against her thigh. “I’m sure she would have left some kind of note about that if she wasn’t going to be there. But all we got was a hasty note from Lorenz. It was too weird. We even went to Professor Manuela and asked for one of Lorenz’s old tests. It took her a while, but she found one and we compared the handwriting. It didn’t match.”

“We told Seteth,” said Caspar. “He was concerned and spoke to Rhea and she’s trying her best to have people look into it.”

“It’s just that now we have even less help than before,” finished Dorothea. “There was another Death Knight attack near Remire a day ago and monastery security is spread so thinly as it is…” 

At last, she noticed Sylvain.

“You’re all right!” she cried, placing a palm to her forehead. “That’s one good thing at least… Goddess, what happened to your hair?”

“Where is Rhea?!” demanded Claude, leaping from the wagon. 

“In her audience chambers but—” 

Claude’s boots hit the first stair and he almost tripped. He hurried past the gatekeeper who had begun to pace back and forth. As Claude passed, raised a hand as if to flag him down, only to drop it.

“Wait! Claude!” cried Dimitri, exiting their wagon. He met Byleth on the stairs and matched her pace. Slowly, the other students began to recover— one by one— from their shock and take after their leaders. Sylvain leaped down from the wagon alongside Felix. His teeth rattled when he hit the ground and he almost fell backwards only for Felix to reach out his arm to steady him. He grasped Sylvain’s shoulder and said:

“Don’t overdo it. Stay by me.” His tone could have withered flowers. Sylvain could only nod and follow his friend’s instructions as they dashed into the hall.

Rhea was speaking with Jeralt, Byleth’s father who’d previously been away on a mission with the knights, and Seteth when they all reached her office, a tributary room off the audience chamber. Their entrance startled her and she looked ready to chastise them until she saw who they were. Likewise, Jeralt’s face lit when he saw his daughter but quickly fell when he saw her expression and her strange, new appearance. 

“My dear professor!” Rhea cried. “I— Your hair! Your eyes! What on earth happened? You look…” She clutched her hands in a prayer-like position; her green eyes twinkled like magic.

“I mentioned it in my letter,” said Byleth. Her expression fell with each passing second as she slowly understood what had happened. “Lady Rhea. We are all in danger.”

“Have you sent knights out to look for Lorenz and the others?” demanded Claude. “Do you have any clues? Anything!”

Rhea grimaced.

“Claude, I am sorry. I have taken Caspar and Dorothea’s concerns seriously. But we had little to go off of. We’ve been questioning the gatekeeper and anyone who may have seen the Deer leave, but have not found much. The gatekeeper swears they never left the premise.”

Claude drew in a breath from his nose. “Do you know where Edelgard is now?”

“Edelgard?” said Jeralt. “I saw her talking to Jeritza yesterday when I returned to Garreg Mach… But she didn’t attend Manuela’s class this morning. Or so I’ve heard.”

“We need to find her. Immediately,” said Byleth. “We sent you a letter about what happened after we found Sylvain. Clearly, you did not receive it.”

“I received a letter…” Rhea twisted the sides of her dress with both hands.

“We’ve been had,” said Seteth, catching on. “And Edelgard was involved in what happened in the margraviate?”

“Yes… I’m positive now,” said Claude. “She and Cornelia Arnim. There’s another person here too. Lady Rhea, we need to lock this place down. And we _need_ to find my classmates.”

“Claude, quiet please!” Rhea snapped. She closed her eyes, and the room fell silent as she tried to think and breathe. Slowly, she regained composure. But her brief lapse shot a prick of anxiety into Sylvain’s chest. Usually, the archbishop was resolute in her decisions. He’d never seen her waver so obviously. At last, she said, “There is something we must do. Quickly. Professor, you need to come with me to the Holy Tomb.”

“Rhea…” Seteth’s brows knit. “You… This isn’t what I think it is… is it? She looks like us… Please tell me you didn’t.”

The archbishop straightened. “Seteth. We are out of options. The world is in dire need of this ritual.”

“Ritual? Hold on a second. What are you going to have my daughter do?” 

Jeralt’s brow wrinkled. His question was not a general one; there was a purpose, a memory behind his words. Rhea turned and gleaned the same thing from his tone and from his eyes. She knew each layer of his question.

“Jeralt. I know you understand Byleth’s… unique heart… better than anyone. And I know how suspicious you are of it. But please, stretch your faith in me just a bit more.”

Byleth pressed a hand to her breast and shared a knowing glance with Jeralt. He gave his head a slight shake, but she was falling back into her own thoughts. Her face went as blank as it had been the day she’d arrived at the monastery and she turned to Rhea saying,

“Explain more. At the tomb.”


	35. Beyond Lighting the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve hit the home stretch!
> 
> I mentioned this on my twitter (@dawnedonme33 follow me for updates), but these past two weeks have been so hectic and… really tough honestly. I moved and got a new job that is presenting me a ton of challenges I really wasn’t expecting. I was worried that people would lose interest in this story which is sad because it’s so close to the ending! But I’ve received a few very kind comments this week and they’ve really kept me motivated!
> 
> The next two chapters will both EXTRA long and they will both be the final battle. Then there’s an epilogue-type thing! As I mentioned a while back, this story definitely does not have a nice, clean ending. It simply ends at the time skip. Most people wanted me to do a sequel for the post-skip and that makes sense because, at that point, the fic no longer fits its AO3 description hehe

Claude had read everything he could find on the Church’s secrets. So many rare tomes had slipped past the gaze of the clergy and into the Garreg Mach library. Sometimes, Claude could even convince Tomas, the old librarian, to look around for these ‘banned’ texts. One afternoon, after flying lessons had been cancelled due to a thunderstorm, Claude had decided to spend his free hour with Tomas. He’d brought some coffee from the dining hall and, together, he and the librarian had gone up to the loft and watched raindrops create wet veins on the window.

_“I really appreciate you taking the time to visit an old man like me,” said Tomas. He brought his mug up to the window and watched as the steam fogged up the glass. “It’s easy to get lonely at my age, when you’ve been at the same place for so long and had to watch people come and go.”_

_“I’m glad, but I’m also no altruist,” said Claude, sipping his coffee and savoring its bitter warmth. “I’m hoping you can tell me something, give me something, in return. Have you found anything new in those archives of yours?”_

_Tomas chuckled. “Ah. Well, even so, I thank you for the company. Regardless of your intentions, you’re a welcome presence. And as for new books…”_

_He passed his mug to Claude and held up one finger before disappearing into a staff room at the end of the loft. Moments later he returned with a large book bound with a thick, white leather cover. Setting both drinks on the windowsill, Claude took the book and leafed through the pages. They managed to feel both old and new at once; the material was delicate and from an era long passed and yet… the book showed no signs of wear._

_Finally, Claude came to a page that gave him pause._

_“Sacred beasts,” he read. “Back in the days of Nemesis, the saints were known to have fantastical creatures accompany them into battle. In fact, each major saint was said to be associated with a sacred beast. Saint Seiros had a dragon which came to be known as the Immaculate One. Saint Macuil and Saint Indech possessed the Windcaller and the Immovable One respectively. All information regarding the sacred beasts of Saint Cichol and his daughter Saint Cethleann has sadly been lost to time.”_

_Claude turned a page and came to an illustration of a magnificent ivory dragon. The creature’s neck stretched towards the sky as it extended its wings to either side. A halo of silver light had been embossed into the page around the dragon’s head._

_“The Immaculate One,” said Tomas. “The Dragon of Seiros and a herald of the Goddess Sothis.”_

_“So, it was like Saint Seiros’... pet?” asked Claude, rubbing the back of his neck. He tired to imagine the saint towing along such a grand creature... maybe he was overthinking it? Dragons were like ultimate wyverns, after all._

_Tomas opened his mouth. He paused for a moment, then grabbed his mug and took a few long sips of coffee. Claude could tell that he was considering how to phrase something. And he hated when people told him things through a filter._

_“I couldn’t tell you,” said Tomas at last. “The Church did their very best to blot out all information about this beast. All I’ve got are scraps of a much bigger story.”_

_“Figures. Hey, will you let me keep this?” Claude closed the book and held it up in one hand._

_“Certainly.”_

_“I appreciate it, my good sir.” Claude cracked a smile and grabbed his coffee. “It’s been fun, but I should get going. Choir starts soon in the cathedral. I heard that Professor Manuela has a bit of a bottle-ache.” He snickered at that. “She never learns. But it means Professor Byleth is substituting, and my whole class is dying to hear her soprano. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”_

_He tucked the book beneath his arm and began to head down the loft stairs when Tomas called out to him._

_“Claude. Tell me one thing.”_

_When Claude turned back to look at the librarian, he saw an expression that he couldn’t decipher. Tomas’ gentle face was a bit sharper now as he straightened to his full height and pressed his cane firmly into the paneled floor. Briefly, Claude felt as though he were somehow… at a disadvantage. He had the lower ground, standing there on the stairs. But this wasn’t a battle. So what did this sense of unease mean?_

_“Will you really ever have power over the Leicester Alliance?” Tomas’ expression softened back to normal once the words had hung in the air for a while._

_The question had taken Claude by surprise. At first, he thought Tomas was wondering if he’d ever take the chair of Sovereign Duke. That was a fair question; many of the Alliance nobles had been trying to find a way to invalidate Claude’s birthright since the day he arrived in his grandfather’s court. But, after a few moments of consideration, Claude understood that Tomas was not asking that. Tomas was asking if that position meant anything in the end. If the words of a human could ever be stronger than the words of a goddess and her Church._

_“I believe that humans are easier to sway than you might think,” said Claude. “They will put their hopes in whomever lights their fire. The Church has, admittedly, done a good job of kindling Fodlan’s fire for so long. But we all can do better than this.”_

_Claude turned away and continued down the stairs. Even though he’d given his answer, Tomas’ question weighed on him. He believed in compromise, but he was sure others found that idealistic… Sooner or later, he knew he would face people who spoke with swords, believing them to be mightier than words._

That discussion with Tomas wouldn’t stop cropping up in Claude’s brain as he rode the lift down to the holy tomb with all the others. He still had the white leather tome; he’d hidden it under his bed and only read it beneath his covers at night. It explained the power of the Church, of the monsters and abilities they commanded. As he descended, he felt uneasy. Just what kind of ritual did Rhea need Byleth for? What other powers did the Church keep hidden? Did they have more to defend than just dusty traditions… 

Together, the group stepped out into the Holy Tomb, a room lit with a green glow as if they were beneath some magical swamp. Rows of coffins lay like pews before a tall, stone throne. Byleth, as though in a trance, stepped forward and gazed at the throne.

“Do you recognize it?” Rhea asked with a maternal tone. 

“Yes. From a dream. From many dreams.”

“Marvelous…” Rhea’s eyes glittered like a whole galaxy. “Then she is still here among us.”

“What are you saying?” said Jeralt. “Please, I’ve put up with not understanding for long enough. Tell me what happened to my child!”

“Rhea, he has a point,” said Seteth. When he looked upon the throne, his gaze shifted between fondness and fear. “I want the same thing you do. But the professor is not ours to risk.”

“Risk?” repeated Dimitri. He’d stayed quiet the whole way to the tomb, but now he looked up and his eyes darted from Rhea to Byleth. “You mean her life? No… the Church couldn’t possibly condone a sacrifice like that. Tell me you don’t.”

“No! Of course not…” Rhea frowned and her eyes drooped with a sudden lethargy. “What I am proposing is indeed questionable. But I would never do anything that would kill someone close to me in cold blood.” She turned to Jeralt. “I said that twenty-one years ago and nothing has changed. I loved Sitri and I love Byleth.”

“Sitri,” Byleth turned to look at her father. “Was that Mother’s name?” 

Jeralt looked as though someone had stabbed him and twisted the blade.

“Yes. It was.” He swallowed. “Rhea, I’ve lost enough family.”

“I understand that well!” Rhea stretched out her arms, pleading. “It is a pain I know! I never blamed you for anything that happened in the past, Jeralt. Your grief was all too familiar. And hardly a day passes when I do not remember Sitri and I regret that I couldn’t… that I couldn’t save her. As I saved you.”

She held one hand in the other and pressed them to her chest.

Byleth hung her head for a moment then took one step closer to the throne.

“Wait.” Claude reached out and grasped her wrist. “Lady Rhea, you need to explain what will happen if Teach goes to that throne. She can’t decide until she knows. And, frankly, I’m on everyone else’s side. I’m not willing to lose her.”

Rhea surveyed everyone else in the room— Jeralt, Seteth, Byleth, the Blue Lions, and the Golden Deer. Briefly, her eyes stopped on Sylvain. Then she turned and said, 

“The goddess has given Byleth her blessing. That much is apparent. Should she decide to sit upon that throne, Byleth should be able to return the goddess to this world by using her own crest and physical form. If one of the three major houses of Fodlan has indeed betrayed us, this may be the only way to stop a war before it starts.”

“I’ll hear Sothis again,” whispered Byleth. “And I’ll be strong enough to…”

She turned and looked to Claude and Sylvain. Immediately, Claude understood what she was thinking. She hadn’t been able to save Sylvain with Divine Pulse and she’d had to watch Claude die and she’d had to suffer those moments of uncertainty, not knowing if he could be saved. If there was a war on their horizon, each day could be a battle against time for her and… eventually she’d lack the power to reverse a death. 

“What would happen to the professor if the goddess does show up?” said Lysithea suddenly. For the most part, the Deer and Lions seemed unwilling to speak, listening as their leaders handled the situation. But now Lysithea looked as though the silence were an affliction. She bit her lip and watched Byleth with pained eyes. 

Rhea closed her eyes. “That is unpredictable. I would love nothing more for our professor to remain alongside us and the goddess but…”

“Byleth’s soul could fall asleep… when the goddess awakens,” finished Seteth.

“Absolutely not!” shouted Jeralt. 

But Byleth didn’t share his alarm. Gently, she tugged her wrist from Claude’s grasp. Her shoulders relaxed.

“I do not mind that risk,” she said softly. She turned around and regarded her students with a warm smile, one that made Claude want to grab her immediately and bring her back to the world above, away from this place of burial and away from the haunting green light. “All of my students are the best things in my life,” she said. “You all have many beautiful dreams. Being at Garreg Mach and seeing you all grow changed me for the better. I could at last understand other humans, just a little. I could even understand you better, Father.”

Jeralt stepped forward. “Kiddo…”

“I want to protect the people and the place that did so much for me. People like Sylvain and Lysithea aren’t going to suffer because of the Church’s enemies ever again. And Claude…” She caught herself, but he understood. 

“But we all feel the same way, Professor!” shouted Sylvain. “I don’t need your protection if it means losing you. I don’t want it. Garreg Mach changed my life for the better too! And you’re part of this academy.”

“Besides,” said Hilda pinching the tip of one of her long ponytails. “You really are a Golden Deer now. You need to— to at least say goodbye to Lorenz and the others!”

“I might not have to go,” said Byleth. “Maybe Sothis and I could really be partners. This is for her too. I want to hear her again.”

“Are you certain, Professor?” Rhea asked. Claude could tell, by her tone, that she was not trying to dissuade Byleth. Rather, she was joyful at Byleth’s willingness and wanting to hear her accept once more.

“I am. And I am ready.”

Byleth turned again and walked towards the throne. She stood before it and drew in a long breath before facing the others. Her gaze lingered on Claude, Dimitri, and her father. She nodded firmly to them. Jeralt started forward before stopping himself.

“If it’s… what you wish…” he said quietly, looking a bit defeated. “Then I’m not sure I could stop you…”

Byleth shook her head.

“All that’s left is to sit,” said Rhea.

And so, Byleth fell back onto the throne.

Claude expected a light show. He’d imagined that the stone would turn gold, that the heavens would part above Byleth and bathe her in the holy glow of the goddess. But none of that happened. In fact… nothing happened.

“I don’t understand,” said Rhea, her chest fell and she pursed her lips. “What could be missing? The goddess’ powers, a vessel, and the holy throne… that was all of it.”

Her words were laced in disappointment, heartache even. But Claude felt relief bloom in his chest. The ritual hadn’t worked. Byleth was still with him. Perhaps, if she’d become a god, that would have given him a permanent advantage in life. He’d have divine protection. And isn’t that what Byleth wanted too? Wouldn’t she be happy if… she could ensure none of her students were ever harmed again? This all seemed like a good deal. 

But Claude did not like deals. He did not like settling. 

Just like how he would never risk his own family for his dream and just like how he couldn’t understand how Miklan could sacrifice the only person who’d ever been on his side for his dream… Claude did not want to risk Byleth and he could not understand why he’d have to. He wanted to win. And he wanted her with him. 

“That’s that then,” said Jeralt with a relieved sigh. “Get down from there, Kid. Let’s talk about what to do with our traitor problem.”

“Give me one more moment,” said Byleth. She needed to stretch a bit to place her hands on the stone armrests. 

“Kid, you—”

“PROFESSOR! Stand up!” 

At first, Claude did not understand the voice. It was Edelgard’s. He knew that. But his brain couldn't comprehend why he was hearing it. Upon turning, he even further confused himself.

The Black Eagle Leader was really there and stomping towards them with Hubert von Vestra and Miklan Gautier at her sides. He watched her approach, trying to come up with some logical explanation for why she’d walk into the den of the enemy. 

“You!” Rhea’s voice shook with rage as she spun. “How— How dare you?! This is a sacred place! Only the worthy may enter. You are a traitor and you’ve brought filth in with you. Do you understand the weight of that sin?!”

“It does not matter if I do or don’t,” Edelgard replied cooly. “My actions would remain the same.”

To Claude’s left, one clear footstep sounded off against the floor. He glanced over to see that Sylvain had stepped back, perhaps involuntarily, and he, with large brown eyes, was staring at his brother. Miklan returned the stare evenly before returning his gaze to Edelgard.

“My teacher.” Edelgard’s white lashes fluttered as her expression turned affectionate. “Please. They’re using you. Get off of that throne.”

“I chose this,” said Byleth. However, she did decide to stand up. “Lady Rhea explained the consequences.”

“That’s right!” Rhea wrung her hands. “Vile girl… what did you think? That you’d come down here and expose me for some kind of crime? Foolishness. Now you’re outnumbered and my students will seize you and they’ll—”

“Hold on,” said Claude. He’d spoken before Dimitri had gotten the chance. The prince barely seemed to be containing himself. His eyes were alight as though he saw all the world’s ills within Edelgard. “I want to know what’s going on. Edelgard, why did you come here with such a small guard? Were you really behind all of this? And most importantly…” Claude’s eyes narrowed. “Where are my friends?”

“A lot of questions for a boy who is known for being so smart.”

Claude didn’t react to that. He just kept watching. Though, in the grand scheme of things, he hadn’t known Edelgard for long, he’d picked up on a few of her habits and her modus operandi. She wasn’t playful. But she would draw attention to her opponents' failings, striking quickly and deeply. She’d spoken this way to Claude, Dimitri, and Byleth during their interhouse mock battles. After a while, Claude had come to realize that she spoke this way not to hurt feelings, but to hone her resolve and her own confidence that she was stronger than her enemies. So Claude simply watched her.

“Answer him!” At last Dimitri’s self control crumbled. “Now!”

Scowling, she said,

“You’ve figured out most of it. I knew it was a matter of time. I’ve managed to complete my preparations though. And that was the most important part.” She blinked at Byleth. “I wasn’t going to come here. I know how risky it was. But it occurred to me… what the archbishop would attempt once you returned. Especially looking like that. I wanted to try one last time to… sway you, Professor. You have been hurt by the Church more than anyone. I saw what happened at Shambhala. I know about the crest stone on your heart.”

Byleth touched her chest and Jeralt turned to Rhea. 

“There’s a crest stone inside of her? Is that why… Lady Rhea! She’s not a weapon! So why is that there?!”

“I already explained it,” said Rhea. She swallowed. “Byleth and her mother were dying. Sitri asked me to do that. I do not deny any of the adverse effects it had on your daughter, Jeralt. But would you rather have lost a wife and a child that day?”

Jeralt stepped back. “Why would… you ask that?”

“It’s what the Church has always done,” said Edelgard. “They’re quite good at putting their misdeeds in pious frames.”

“Enough!” Rhea bristled. “You have no right to speak of me this way. Especially not when you keep such loathsome, moral-less company.”

Attention shifted onto Miklan. 

“Say what you want, but your crest system was at fault for what happened in Gautier Territory,” said Edelgard. “Now, I am allowing Miklan to move forward. All those past conflicts were unfortunate, but they were a product of the Fodlan I wish to tear apart. That is the greater concern. Humanity can’t focus on our own quarrels now.”

“That’s evil…” Dimitri said, his voice low and with rage boiling beneath. “You don’t intend to hold him accountable for his crimes? What about the people who suffered and died because of him, Edelgard?! Must they simply ‘move on’ as well? Are they not important enough for justice? You’re asking them to forgo recompense so you can chase your own personal ideals! As long as you protect Miklan, you are abandoning them. You are asking for a world that abandons the weak!”

“No revolution is bloodless or without losses,” said Edelgard. “I am fully aware that my path will grow thornier and greyer before it gets better. But I know that Fodlan deserves more than what we have: the endless reign of an inhuman archbishop who uses her Church as a way to enslave humans.”

“Enslave?!” snapped Rhea. She clasped her hands tighter until her knuckles turned bone-white. “Should I even grace that with a response? I’ve done no such thing to anyone! You are seeing things that aren’t there and speaking for people who aren’t unhappy!”

“You live in luxury and preach to those with crests about how blessed they are. Then they feel as though they can use the crestless to their advantage. You execute those who deny the goddess. You divided the Empire repeatedly, just when we were getting stronger. You created the Kingdom and Alliance to keep us separated. All of this was to keep a tight hold on humanity.”

“Is that what you really think?” Rhea’s eyes, which looked as though they were keyholes on the doors of hell, lost a bit of their heat. Her voice weakened and Claude heard pain. “Your accusations are riddled in lies. Everything I do has a purpose, a good one. There are so many things you do not see. And I’ve tried so… so hard to protect everyone...” Her breath caught for a moment then her voice returned to its raspy, furious tone. “I’ve saved more lives and prevented more wars than you know. And yet you, a little girl who is demanding war, is lecturing me!”

He voice echoed off the disconcerting, green stone walls and hung in the the musty air over the coffins. It seemed to rest and reverberate off the throne. The archbishop pointed a long nail towards Miklan but kept her eyes on Edelgard.

“And what right do you have to accuse me of being unfair? Dimitri is right! You don’t care about human suffering! You care about your own opinions! I may have regretted acting so rashly, but I am glad I killed this man’s wicked group of followers! _I_ offered some justice to the people of the margraviate who lost family and homes and hope— even if you will not!”

Miklan, who had been listening without a word or any change in expression, now jolted as though he’d been hit head on with a burst of thoron. His jaw twitched as he stared at the archbishop. Claude didn’t know Miklan well enough to understand the expression, but Sylvain did. He winced and stepped back again. 

Then Miklan lost it.

“That was you?!” he roared. He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Of course it was… you’d have the power to level that tower.” Briefly, his crest responded to his anger and flickered before vanishing again. His expression was fluid as water, going from distraught to irate in waves. “I’ll kill you, you bitch!”

Rhea’s eyes widened at the curse.

“You dare… INSULT ME?! You are _NOTHING_ ! You are a _BLIGHT_ upon Faerghus. And there is _ABSOLUTELY NOBODY_ who loves you!!” She sneered. “Don’t you understand that so many people would be _happy_ if you just stopped breathing!?” 

“Lady Rhea…” Sylvain spoke too softly for anyone but those close to him to hear. Claude, who was so used to seeing Sylvain extroverted and full of charm, couldn’t help but watch in fascination as he turned his gaze to the floor and held his hands up to his ears, almost like a child. 

Miklan looked as though he’d been punched in the throat; his small eyes blinked and his face grew red around his grey scar. Edelgard quickly spoke,

“Enough, Rhea. You’re the one who doesn’t understand. I intend to make decisions for the benefit of all. Some will suffer, but I won’t let anyone suffer _needlessly_. If I wanted that, I would not have helped return Sylvain to you.”

This gave everyone pause. Claude tried to think what she could possibly mean by that. Then it hit him.

“You sent us the anonymous tip,” he said. "Those coordinates."

“I did actually,” said Hubert with a cold smile. “But my lady ordered it.”

Edelgard nodded. “I work with the Agarthans, but I do not share their bloodlust. I saw that both Sylvain and Miklan were being harmed meaninglessly by them and I intervened.”

“Give me a break,” snapped Felix. “You enabled them. And Miklan directly helped them so he could get something _he_ wanted. Then when Sylvain wasn’t useful anymore, you returned him. And now… what? Do you want a trophy for it?”

“I am giving you a perspective,” said Edelgard. “I am not a monster. Far from it. I’m going to petition one last time. Professor… and Claude.” She extended a hand. “I know you both have similar values to mine. I watched everyone at Garreg Mach closely during my time here. And I believe that our goals can intersect. Please. Trust me.”

Claude expected Byleth to deny the invitation immediately, but she did not. She just slowly came forward and stood at Claude’s side. Her gaze swept over Hilda, Marianne, and Lysithea. Then Claude understood.

_She’s waiting for me to speak._

He tried to collect his thoughts and sort through them. Edelgard was right. He did share her ideals for the most part. The way she spoke reminded him so much of the conversation he’d had with Tomas on that rainy afternoon before choir class. 

_“Will you really ever have power over the Leicester Alliance?”_

Those words still pounded in his skull like blood. He couldn’t forget Tomas’ pitying tone and he heard it now in Edelgard’s voice. Claude had told her many times before that he found her and her straightforward attitude naïve. Now, he knew she felt the same about him. She didn’t have the faith he had in reform without sacrificial lambs. If he took her hand, he was ending the Alliance and agreeing that civilian deaths and that turning his bow on Dimitri and Rhea was necessary after all. He wanted to just… agree. He’d grown tired. Tired of trying, tired of fighting to stay afloat in the Leicester Court, tired of sleepless nights in the library only to have Seteth come in and confiscate his progress, and tired of the same tragedies that crests and racial divide caused. 

And yet…

Could he live with himself if he made a misstep here? Rhea had said there were things Edelgard didn’t understand, things yet to come to light. Could Claude make a move before knowing what those secrets were? Could he stake his goal and his people’s lives on a cause with so many gaps in its knowledge? 

No. He couldn’t.

“Claude.” Dimitri put a heavy hand on his shoulder. A warning. 

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” said Claude with a chuckle and a shrug. “I’m not betraying you today. You can stop wondering if you’ll have to kill me.” He bowed to Edelgard with a little smirk. “Sorry, Princess. You’re on your own. You’ve done nothing to prove that the blood and force you’re asking for is warranted. We may have the same dreams just like how Miklan and I have the same status as outsiders. But I believe in more than just that. And I can’t truly reach my goals from your side. To be honest, I think everyone here believes what you do to some extent. We all want people to be able to make something of themselves. But the failings and shortsightedness of your methods are excessively steep. That is why we reject them.”

Edelgard, melancholic but not at all surprised, dropped her arm. The corners of her mouth pricked upwards just slightly, but the tiny smile only made her look more sad.

“Very well. Still, when you hesitated… For a moment there, I had a pleasant vision of a world where you would be at my side and I wouldn’t have to kill you or the professor after all. I suppose I thank you for that.”

He heard a tinge to her tone that reminded him a bit of his own, when he was younger. That cadence was so lonely. 

Byleth sighed. “This goes without saying, but I made a promise to the Golden Deer. I will not go where Claude will not.”

“I understand.” Edelgard closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ll thank you as well. I know you thought nothing of it, but there were many times when you spoke to me around the academy and really helped ease my troubled mind... even though I was not in your class. Dimitri, I’m sure, feels the same way.”

“Don’t speak of my feelings! You know nothing about them!” Dimitri, perhaps forgetting that his hand was still on Claude’s shoulder, clenched his fingers causing Claude to wince. “I will not forgive you for this. You’ve sided with those responsible for Duscur and with a murderer who abused my friend! I hate you.” He swallowed and repeated himself as if fortifying his own belief in his words:

“I hate you, El.”

“El?” Now Edelgard turned to face him completely. She squinted at his face as though seeing it for the first time. Then her lavender eyes widened. Swiftly, she unhooked a dagger from her belt and held it in both gloved hands. “It was you… the boy from back then… who gave me this.”

Dimitri nodded. “I figured something terrible must have happened to you after you left Fhirdiad. Most people don’t have such a big hole in their memory. I wanted to wait for you. I believed in you and that dagger was supposed to be proof of that. But now… you just disgust me. You killed my father and our mother. I want nothing more than to see your head piked up on the gates of Enbarr!”

Edelgard snarled and— almost faster than Claude could track— she slid the dagger from its sheath and swung it so that it flew like a dart and pierced into the ground at Dimitri’s feet.

“Keep your gift,” she told him.

He didn’t retrieve it. He watched her with predatory eyes— like his house’s namesake.

“You’ve been speaking as though you think you can just walk out of here,” he said. “Take another step and I’ll kill you in a way that makes decapitation seem comfortable.” 

Miklan stepped in front of Edelgard and pointed the Lance of Ruin at Dimitri. Though... he seemed distracted to Claude. Something Dimitri had said stuck in the former bandit's head. 

Edelgard pressed her vassal’s arm down gently. 

“Spit and hiss all you want,” she told Dimitri. “I do not fear you. You are incapable of causing me the pain I’ve already undergone. That pain was strong enough to drive me to this point.”

“The point where you’d choose your own emotions over the logic everyone else has already seen? And over your own people?” snapped Dimitri. 

She shook her head. “You’re too incensed to speak to any longer.” Turning to Claude and Byleth, she said, “Two things. First of all, I must correct you, Claude. I am no longer a princess. I am the Adrestian emperor by the will of my father.”

“The Church must approve of that!” shouted Rhea, throwing her arms out so that her cloak flapped.

“Exactly. In your Fodlan. But taking that title without so much as a single word from the Church marks a new reign.” She smiled as she said this. “Secondly, the Golden Deer you are looking for can be found in Professor Jeritza’s quarters. There is a door behind his bookcase. I will allow them to fall honorably in battle rather than starve in the dark, if that is what they wish. It makes no difference to me.”

“Battle?” said Seteth, clenching a fist.

“In one week,” said Edelgard, “my troops will arrive to seize Garreg Mach. We have large numbers and the monsters taken from Gautier Territory— as many as we could save from the fall of Shambhala. Prepare yourselves. Professor, Claude, I expect you to go down spectacularly.”

“Hold on!” screamed Rhea. “What are you—”

But Edelgard, Miklan, and Hubert were already turning violet. 

Dimitri roared and pitched his lance. It flew with astonishing force, spearing through Edelgard’s afterimage and embedding itself into the ground, sinking into the green clay floor even deeper than the dagger she’d tossed. Upon seeing his miss, Dimitri grabbed clumps of blonde hair from either side of his head and let out another thunderous scream. 

“Calm down, Boar!” snapped Felix. “Now is not the place to lose your mind.”

“YOU BE QUIET!” Dimitri whirled to face Felix with such a razored, furious turn that Felix recoiled, shocked. “If you call me that again, I’ll punch your teeth out!”

“Dimitri!” Mercedes shouted and, in the next second, clamped her hands over her mouth, surprised at her own outburst. The horror in her usually easy-going eyes seemed to pull Dimitri out of his rage and into an icy seriousness.

“I know I shouldn’t expect any of you to understand,” he said. “None of you are haunted by Duscur in the same way I am! None of you have had to see someone you care about side with the people who caused the worst day of your life.”

“Dimitri…” said Ingrid, trying not to look at him. “I lost my fiance. Felix lost his brother… And Dedue lost his whole society! So how can you claim…”

Dedue gave her a quieting look.

“Let him be angry…” Claude heard him whisper before he walked towards Dimitri. “Your Highness,” he said. “Let us leave this place. 

“Great idea,” said Claude quickly. “I’m heading to Jeritza’s.”

He took off before anyone could tell him to stay. He didn’t care how lamely, how suddenly, he’d announced his exit. Talking to Rhea and preparing for war could wait until later.

“H-hey! Don’t make me run! Uck— I’m coming!” called Hilda from behind.

“The rest of us are too!” cried Lysithea. Claude heard two final sets of footsteps, Byleth’s and Marianne’s, follow him to the lift.  
  


“Claude!”

Dimitri had caught up. He must have told Dedue to stay with the others because the Duscur man was nowhere in sight. Matching Claude’s pace, Dimitri said,

“I want to clear something up with you.”

Raising an eyebrow, Claude pumped his arms harder.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“I was not considering killing you. When you hesitated.”

Though he appreciated Dimitri reaching out to him, Claude wasn’t sure if he believed that. He just couldn’t tell. Was Dimitri sincere? Or doing damage control? Nowadays, his moods seemed to change faster than Flayn's dining hall dash on grilled herring day. 

“I see. All right then. Good.”

“I mean it,” went on Dimitri as they reached the gate to Jeritza’s quarters. His voice turned back to how it had always been, contemplative and firm. “I do not know what your plans for the Alliance are, but I do not believe you are like Edelgard. You risked your life to save Sylvain. I will remember that.”

“Dimitri, I didn’t risk anything,” said Claude. 

He grasped the gate, feeling the cool iron on his palm. Certain sections were a bit corroded; he dug a nail into a dent. Somehow, the smell of the lake reached even here. Claude wondered how much longer he’d be able to enjoy the fresh, clean air of Garreg Mach. At times, this place almost made him want to stay in Fodlan forever and never return to Almyra. Sometimes, he took naps on the lawn by the pavilion and listened to students having afternoon tea as he smelled the aroma of cakes and chamomile in the wind. He caught himself wishing he could just stay like that and hibernate until winter. 

Garreg Mach was the epitome of Fodlan; it showed the best that the continent could be. That was, perhaps, one reason that Claude couldn’t fully throw himself into a plot to get rid of Rhea as much as he really wanted to. This academy gave him pause and made him think. It showed that some understanding and peace was already possible in this land— if a stranger like him could feel safe sleeping out in the open. He’d seen girls ask Petra for tips on hair braids and he’d heard one of the gardeners wonder if Dedue could figure out how to crossbreed some roses. Garreg Mach proved that there was a happy future for the crestless, the hated, and the outsiders. If Edelgard destroyed this place and there really wasn’t anything better beyond… 

Claude sighed. 

“I do everything for myself. Keeping you and Sylvain safe… there was very little danger in that. And I could see you both as valuable allies in the future. Hmph, maybe I am like Edelgard, saving people if I think they might help me later.”

“Claude…” Lysithea stepped up behind them. “Stop saying that stuff. Please.”

He glanced at her, trying to figure out her tone. He recalled all the times he’d carried her from the library and to her dorm, so that she wouldn’t wake up and have to walk through the dark corridors she was so afraid of by herself. When she’d nearly died in the margraviate, he’d stayed by her bed as much as he could. For a moment… he felt certain that was the reason behind her request. 

With a chuckle, he patted her head, causing her to squeak and bat his hand away. The tension broke, just like he wanted. 

Once they reached the inside of Jeritza’s room, Dimitri moved away the bookshelf and found the door that Edelgard had mentioned.

“I’m scared,” muttered Marianne. “What if they’re…”

“Don’t even finish that thought,” said Hilda. She reached over and pat Marianne’s shoulder. “Come on. Positivity. They’re fine.”

Claude opened the door into a dark staircase. Byleth summoned a flicker of fire in her palm to light their way down the passage and into another room. Immediately, Claude spotted them:

Lorenz, Ignatz, Leonie, and Raphael.

He hurried over, his feet pounding the shadowed stone beneath his boots. Ignatz, who couldn’t speak through the dirty gag around his mouth, let out a muffled shout of relief. Claude knelt beside him and used a hunting knife to slice off the gag and the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. 

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yes! Claude! It’s Edelgard, she—”

“We know,” said Dimitri. “How are the others?”

“Just sleeping… I-I think. It’s hard not to with how dark it is… Professor! Lysithea, Marianne, Hilda! Thank the goddess you’re here too!”

“Of course,” said Hilda as she got to work sawing at Raphael’s bindings. “Deer stick together, right?” 

Byleth shook Lorenz awake gently as Leonie awoke in Claude’s arms.

“You’re here! About time! I wasn’t sure how much more I could take of that boorish Death Knight coming down here and watching us…” said Lorenz with a shiver. Then he hung his head, exhausted. “That aside… Thank you. All of you. I really was starting to grow frightened."

Hilda took his hand in hers and gave it a quick squeeze

“Hm… So Jeritza is his true identity then,” said Claude. “Great.” 

He dusted off his coat and helped Leonie up before taking a long, sweeping glance at his classmates. 

“Sorry to drop this on you so soon after waking up,” he said, “But you’ve got to get ready to fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this wasn't too much dialogue for people T.T


	36. Beyond the Battle Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm back.
> 
> I desperately needed a hiatus. I got a new job and it feels like I was having a different meltdown each week. The place I'm working at has some pretty big issues with how people get treated I wasn't aware of going in and it was all just a lot of shock. But I'm starting to find my footing again.
> 
> And... let's pretend that I didn't just increase the chapter count on this fic again. I keep writing a new chapter and realizing that my pacing was off. I think this is the last time. Like I said, the battle will be 2 parts. Both quite long.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much if you're still reading this. Each time I take longer than a week, I'm scared people will stop caring. So I love the people who comment chapter after chapter so much. Really, I do.
> 
> Now let's see how the characters are doing!

One week wasn’t enough time to prepare for war, but all of Garreg Mach did their best.

Sylvain had never been more terrified in his life. His current number of fears exceeded those he’d felt while within Shambhala. Now, he had more to lose and he knew exactly what would happen if he failed. He’d have to watch his academy fall to his enemies— to Miklan who had already broken apart every other thing in his life. Sylvain feared capture more than ever before now. The thought of falling back to the Agarthans or to his brother again was enough to make him sweat. At the end of the long days of preparation, he tossed in his bed trying not to think of anything that would bring his dreams back to that black cell or to the table where his crest had been torn out through his blood. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but plan what he’d do if Garreg Mach crumbled while he was still standing. Maybe he could ask Claude for some sort of painless poison and…

But those thoughts never went too far. Sylvain wasn’t the type of man to flop over and die. Besides, Claude would never condone a plan like that. Neither would Ingrid, Felix, or Dimitri. They’d lose it if Sylvain mentioned that any of this had even been on his mind. 

Though… he wondered if Dimitri _could_ lose his sanity more than he already had. 

Throughout the week, each time Sylvain saw him, Dimitri was deep in turbulent thought, muttering to himself as he furiously whetted a blade or dismantled a hay training dummy. Sylvain had even watched him sink so far into his own mind that he sharpened a sword down to a sliver and snapped it. And Sylvain wasn’t the only one who’d witnessed Dimitri lose a handle on his tremendous strength. 

“He broke a pew in the cathedral,” said Ingrid just two days before the assault. She, Sylvain, and Felix had met in her room to discuss the week. They sat around a tea table; Ingrid had placed a cup of pine needle tea for Felix, bergamot for Sylvain, and mint tea for herself. Though she and Felix only took a few sips, Sylvain drained three cups and then attacked the cake tower, grabbing a few slaps of strawberry cake. He just needed something to occupy himself with. He was afraid of what expressions he’d make if he had time to just sit still. He wanted to look away and to move and to be chewing— so nobody would expect him to talk. 

“Ashe told me about it. I think His Highness was praying and he gripped it so hard that it just…”

Ingrid sighed. 

Strangely, Felix was taking Dimitri’s attitude better than anyone.

“I was expecting this eventually,” he told them. “We just need to stay firm and call him out on his madness. He needs to know that we’re all here for our own reasons. Not for him.”

Ingrid rubbed her thumb over a hole in the doily tablecloth. 

“Felix… I haven’t had the chance to ask… are you okay?” she said. “What he said to you in the Holy Tomb was… pretty violent. Even I was shocked.”

“Like I said, I was expecting stuff of that sort,” he told her. “It doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t really hurt me or any of the Lions. He’ll just bark at us. And we need to snap back. We _aren’t_ here for him.”

“Don’t you think…” Sylvain swallowed a lump of shortcake. “It might be the opposite? Maybe we _should_ reinforce that we’re here for him.”

“And get ordered around and taken advantage of?” shot Felix.

Sylvain shook his head. “I do not mean that. But think about it. Someone he cared about basically just said she wants to kill him. That’s… a lot. I think he’s scared, paranoid. That’s probably why he chased after Claude. And… look at it from his perspective. Ever since I got back, the three of us have been getting closer. Without him.” Sylvain leaned over and rested his head on the table. “To be honest, I kind of understand how he feels about Edelgard. It hurts when someone that _should_ care about you... just doesn’t. Especially when you’ve held out your heart to them in the past… I understand feeling like you need to find a way to undo the past. And just wipe them out.”

Silence. 

Outside Ingrid’s window, someone ran down the hall. Likely on his way to deliver supplies or a letter. 

“I know you won’t like hearing this,” said Ingrid at last, “but I think you should sit this battle out, Sylvain. You don’t have to fight your brother.”

Sylvain ran his nails over the doily. 

“No. I can’t avoid this. This battle isn’t going to be the last time we face the Empire. And I can’t run from him forever. Especially if he’s an Imperial general now. I should face everything head-on. From the very start.”

Ingrid placed her head on the table beside him. He almost laughed at what they must look like, ears against the tablecloth, nearly nose to nose. 

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll just be there to support you.”

 _Knightlike almost to a fault…_ Sylvain wanted to say. When it came to chivalry, to the code of the Faerghus knights, Ingrid had him and Felix beat. She held a stronger vision for her future than either of them. But Sylvain wouldn’t admit that to her.

“Sylvain and Dimitri aren’t the only ones with difficult conflicts ahead,” said Felix. His eyes narrowed at his cup. “I’m worried about those among us who were close with the Eagles. I don’t want any of you hesitating and slowing me down.”

Ingrid raised her head, a sudden darkness in her expression.

A day after the Holy Tomb confrontation, each Eagle had vanished from Garreg Mach. But their whereabouts were not unknown. Once again, Caspar and Dorothea had taken some initiative. They’d, along with Petra, had left short messages. For Raphael, Shamir, and Ingrid.

Sylvain didn’t know what the letters had entailed. All he knew was that they were heartfelt and private, the kinds of things people did not like to read out loud. He knew that Dorothea and Ingrid considered themselves friends. Of everyone outside their house, Ingrid spent the most time with Dorothea. They’d bonded— likely over their similar anxieties, worries about marriage and their places in the world. While Dorothea sought desperately for a companion to take with her into old age, Ingrid wanted to focus on goals that had nothing to do with marriage, even though the whole world seemed to be telling her that settling down would be the best for House Galatea. Each girl wanted what the other had and, still, they understood each other's unease. Dorothea had even helped Ingrid escape the advances of a selfish nobleman looking for a crest bearer to turn into his wife. _That_ whole event… had made Sylvain ashamed. He wished he’d been there for Ingrid then. Afterall, he understood what it was like to feel as though your only purpose was to produce more crests. He was thankful for Dorothea, but embarrassed that he hadn’t seen that Ingrid suffered from the same problems he did. 

He thought back to Dorothea’s letter. The only thing she’d left at Garreg Mach. 

_“What did she say?” Felix had asked Ingrid._

_Ingrid clutched the letter to her chest. “That she’s sorry. And that this choice was so hard for all of the Eagles, that it hurt them to decide. But they feel that… if their emperor falls, then their whole world is lost. Adrestia will cease to exist and they could lose their culture and their history… So they need to have faith in Edelgard.” Ingrid shook her head. “I cannot be angry at Dorothea. I can tell how torn she feels… And I think… I feel the same way about Dimitri as she does about Edelgard. He represents a culture I love. And so I cannot allow him to fall. No matter what kind of person he is.”_

“You’re right Felix…” said Ingrid, bringing Sylvain’s thoughts back to the present. “Many of us will have to fight someone we really do not want to.” 

Sylvain stood up. 

“The best thing we can do is get ready. I’m going to go to the blacksmith. I want my lance to be as sturdy as possible.”

He hated leaving the conversation with such a sudden excuse, but he needed to take a walk. All these topics were shooting through his head like marbles. He needed air. 

  
  


After getting his lance forged, Sylvain headed back to his dorm. The fireflies were waking up and freckling the dark. Their warm glows made him feel sleepy. Once he reached his room, he collapsed onto his bed and, before he knew it, he was dreaming. 

His dream was not coherent enough for him to explain. It was full of contradictions, painful opposites flashing in intervals—

_Carrot cake and the bottom of a well and bluebells and velvety puppies. Dark bruises which he hid under coats and the feeling of a large hand on his, teaching him how to write his name. Memories that were fractured and ripped and weathered down. And, in the background of it all, was a faintly glowing crest._

Sylvain woke, paralyzed. His body felt as though it had died and closed whatever back door his soul was meant to escape from. He wanted to scream but not even his tongue would obey him. So he lay there, losing sanity, until at last his chest regained feeling and he gasped for air and shot up straight. 

He clutched his forehead as he shuttered and tried to breathe. But he could not help the shakiness of his breaths or the tears building behind his eyes. And… when a quick image of his brother flashed across his mind, he melted down.

Falling backwards and holding his palms to his eyes, Sylvain cried. He let out a sob that he hated between every burst of tears. He hadn’t cried like this since he was a child, but he knew how he sounded, like a small, wailing animal— like a lamb or a fawn that could never keep up with the others, finally falling into the wolf’s jaw, just then understanding that it had never been meant to live. That was the sort of hopelessness within his voice. 

When he’d used to cry like this, it had always been in private. But he’d had a deep wish that Miklan or his parents would open his bedroom door, just by chance, and see a truth that could maybe reach them. But that had never happened and Sylvain had learned to shift to other means of release. 

Slowly, his own crying sapped his energy. He fell back asleep....

And the nightmares were there waiting for him. 

The morning of the siege, the Lions and Deer met in the Blue Lion Room for one last conversation. Claude took the helm, glancing at Dimitri every few moments only to see the same grim expression in his blue eyes. Sylvain didn’t blame Claude for turning away each time. 

The sound of a couple raindrops pattered on the roof. Then, the storm picked up and dumped sheets of rain onto the stone just outside the door. A gust flew through the doorway and flapped the sapphire banner of Faerghus in the back of the room. Goosebumps cropped up on Sylvain’s arms as the air chilled.

“Teach? Are you okay?” Claude asked suddenly. He watched Byleth as she took a step towards the door and faced the downpour. Her face looked like someone else’s for a moment. 

At last she nodded and turned back towards the group. 

“Good.” Claude went on. “We’re as ready as we’re going to get and I have as many schemes as I could think of up my sleeves. But hard work is going to play a major role in this. We can’t give the Adrestian army an inch.

“Of course not.” At last, Dimitri spoke. For the first time all week, he smiled. But Sylvain only felt more uneasy upon seeing the viperine smirk. He’d only just begun to get used to Dimitri’s outward-rage. He had no way to react to this subtle, malicious amusement. The prince ran his hand over a table beside him. Since everyone had been occupied with battle preparations, nobody had had time to clean the classroom all week. A thin, almost imperceptible layer of dust had formed on the desk. Once it stuck to Dimitri’s black glove, it became visible. “Normally, as representatives of the Church, we have to remain composed. Arrest, not kill. But this is different. I want the Imperial army wiped out. So all of you, kill to your hearts’ content. I don’t even care how you do it so long as your methods produce corpses.”

The Lions winced and the Deer looked to Claude as if he’d offer them some kind of guidance. 

Sylvain swallowed. Earlier, he’d thought that, if things got too out of hand, he could lighten the mood with a little joke. Maybe he could have acted disappointed about not trying to woo Edelgard months ago. Or, perhaps, some humor about his premature white streaks? But now… he was too nervous to kid around. He tried to remember his discussion with Ingrid and Felix.

 _We_ should _reinforce that we’re here for him._

Sylvain still believed that. He still believed that Dimitri was more frightened and hurt than he was letting on. Though he was grinning, the prince was far from happy.

“Dimitri…” said Sylvain, almost unsure what to say once he'd spoken up. He grappled to find the proper thing to say. “I want to speak with you.”

The prince raised an eyebrow.

“Now?”

“No.” Sylvain offered the best smile he could. “After the battle. That means we’ve both got to live.”

Dimitri watched Sylvain. His cold expression wavered and, for a moment, the haze cleared from his eyes. But Sylvain’s victory didn’t last long. Dimitri scowled.

“Fine. Dying was never an option to begin with. For any of you.” He pushed off of the table. “Claude, Professor. You two and Seteth will destroy the Agarthan leaders, Hubert, and Miklan. I will deal with Edelgard. Lady Rhea has stated that she will act as the last defense before our gate. The rest of you will pile up the bodies of their minions.”

“We’ll…” Ignatz didn’t say anything more. He used his eyes to plead with Claude, to ask him to say something. 

“I don’t mind that idea,” said Claude, placing a hand on a flask at his hip. “But let’s refine it. I want Ashe and Leonie to get to the ballistae as soon as possible. The Church will have some mages helping from magic ballistae too. Ingrid is probably our best flier so I want her to watch the barricades and help pick off enemies who make it past. Mercedes, Marianne, take white magic battalions to either side of our map and let Hilda and Lorenz’s battalions cover you. Dedue, Raphael, Annette, and Lysithea, I want you to take care of the middle. You all have different strengths and, together, you can blow a hole in their main line. Finally, Ignatz, Sylvain, and Felix will take care of assessing and reinforcing our weak points.” He smiled and rubbed his forehead with his sleeve cuff. “If you all stick to your roles, then Teach, Dimitri, Seteth, and I have clear paths towards their leaders.”

Byleth nodded. “And don’t forget about the Church’s key players. The other teachers, Alois, Flayn, and my father will play their parts.”

“Cyril too!” said Lysithea. “He told me that he intends to fight.”

“We’re really all in this together.” Ingrid held up a fist. “This sounds like a great plan. That is… if you approve, Your Highness?”

“I have no objection.” Dimitri crossed his arms. 

“And you, Lorenz?” Hilda smirked and placed her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand. “Normally, you have an earful of complaints for Claude after our meetings.”

He turned up his nose indignantly. 

“That is hardly true. I only object to his silly schemes. And this plan seems fairly straightforward. Besides...” He sighed. “Now is the time to work together, so it is only right that I trust Claude this once. I am also putting my faith in a different house for this battle.” He turned and placed his arm to his chest, formally bowing. “I am truly honored to be working with the Lions.”

“And we are with you!” Annette bounced on the balls of her feet. “We’re lucky to have the Deer as our allies.”

“Not too lucky though.” Ingrid smiled, a little bit of playful pride behind her eyes. “We intend to show you how strong the Blue Lions really are. First hand.”

“Looking forward to it!” said Ignatz, with a beaming smile. He adjusted his glasses— a new pair that Claude had gotten for him to replace the ones Hubert had shattered.

Sylvain was glad for the shift in mood. He knew that it was little more than a temporary tarp over all their fear. But he appreciated it. At least, he could smile on the outside while his heart sank. He just couldn’t shake his uneasiness. Shortly, all his friends and teachers would be running towards enemies who intended to kill them. Chances were… that somebody would return from this wrapped in funeral linens. And that was almost too much to bear.

“One last thing…” said Claude. His brows knit. “Lysithea, Sylvain. Were you able to visit Professor Hanneman this week?”

Lysithea and Sylvain shared a look. They had, but neither of them had wanted to talk about it. Though Hanneman was an ally who meant well and intended to help them… there was still something disquieting about laying on tables in his study as he took notes and ran tests. Sylvain couldn’t help but feel like an anatomy doll. After the session, he and Lysithea had descended the stairs in silence, clutching onto the railings at their sides, too lost in thought to speak to each other. 

“We did. It was a typical session for me.” Lysithea shrugged. “I’m recovered from what happened in the margraviate. Professor Hanneman did take blood samples from us to study and… he did mention that he saw something in Sylvain’s that concerned him.”

Sylvain almost turned and snapped at her. He hadn’t been prepared for her to just shove him into the spotlight. 

“What?” said Ingrid. “Sylvain, why didn’t you mention that?”

“Concerning how?” Felix pressed.

Sylvain waved off their questions with both hands.

“It was no big deal. Really. It was just something he casually said.” When everyone continued to stare at him, he added: “It may have been about my lifespan. He did say that it was shortened. But we basically already knew that. Some ideas were tossed around about how to fix it. Like maybe transferring one of Lysithea’s crests to me. But we haven’t decided on anything. It can wait.”

“Shortened…” Ingrid breathed the word.

“He did say that we definitely have at least five years,” brought up Lysithea. “It’s not much, but we aren’t going to drop down dead before then. And there's a lot we still need to accomplish.” 

Sylvain made the mistake of looking at Dimitri. The prince’s eyes almost made him twitch. They were balls of ice rimmed in faint purple rings. To Sylvain, his anger felt even more frigid than the rain blowing in from outdoors. 

“They’ll die for it…” muttered Dimitri, unblinking. “All of them.”

Thankfully, at that moment, a newcomer arrived.

“What are you all still doing in here?” Cyril burst in from the storm. His normally curly hair lay flat and waterlogged. He wore a small suit of armor that was shiny with rain. Rubbing water from his lashes, he said, “We’ve spotted the Adrestian emblem on the horizon! One hour!”

“About time.” Dimitri grabbed his lance from the table and headed towards the door. 

Sylvain watched him for a moment as he put a hand to his chest, feeling the place where he imagined his crest had once been. He was weaker than before. He knew that. But that weakness gave him adrenaline, the terror and desperation needed to fight. 

He did not intend to die or to be taken prisoner ever again.

Or to let his home burn.

  
  


*****

Edelgard’s hair hung over her shoulders in heavy white strands as she blinked up at the tearful sky. She’d jumped from her horse when they reached the hill and had splashed mud nearly up to the knees of her red tights. Before her, over the hills and just a few miles away, stood the proud Garreg Mach Monastery. And the officer’s academy. 

Miklan watched her stare; her face was hateful, but in the particular way that someone hates a ruined comfort— a special food or nostalgic song they’d once shared with someone no longer in their life. It was the way a person hated that they’d loved something. 

In the back of the formation, a beast growled and shook its head, irritated with its blinders. Miklan pursed his lips. 

_I wonder if whoever that once was… understands what happened to them._

Briefly, he remembered the Agarthans’ idea of giving Sylvain the same fate. He squinted at the sloppy earth. A droplet of rain slid off his nose. 

“You have such a severe expression.”

He looked up and saw Edelgard staring at him.

“Do I…”

“Mm.” She nodded.

The sky rumbled. 

After a moment of quiet, Edelgard continued, “I’ve had the sense, ever since we returned from the Holy Tomb, that you wanted to ask me something. You don’t have to bite your tongue.”

At first, Miklan wasn’t sure what she meant. Then it occurred to him… the bit of phrasing that had caught him off guard. 

“Dimitri said ‘you killed our mother.’”

“He meant indirectly. By being involved with a group against Fodlan’s government. I didn’t truly commit matricide.”

“I don’t care about that. It was just… you have the _same_ mother?”

That didn’t seem possible. Miklan had met the late Queen of Faerghus. He’d seen her when she was pregnant with Dimitri and she’d died shortly after. The prince’s accusation made no sense and yet… Edelgard seemed to entertain it. 

She removed one glove and wrung out some of the rain.

“Ah. I have a theory. I think it is possible that my mother had some kind of affair with Faerghus’ king while I was in exile there. But to truly know the answer, I would have to ask Dimitri himself. And who knows… maybe he’s hallucinated the whole thing. After seeing him in the tomb, I believe he’s delusional.” 

Miklan didn’t say anything, but he wanted to smile. He’d grown up in a family that was so sensitive wherever Dimitri was concerned.

_Speak to him respectfully! Don’t forget to say his title! Look after him and Sylvain! Come down and greet him when he arrives!_

He’d hated hearing things like that over and over. Most of all, he’d hated having to act like a little kid— almost a decade younger than him— was better than he was. Sometimes, he thought about how funny his parent’s reactions would be if something ever happened to Dimitri: if he got lost in the forest and devoured by bears or if Miklan had tossed _him_ down a well. Of course, that had never happened and, even if Miklan managed to kill Dimitri here, he’d never see the look of horror he wanted on his parents’ faces. Still, the prince’s death would satisfy him. And, perhaps, he’d get to see Sylvain’s reaction to it…

Edelgard turned and faced the rest of her legion.

“Soon!” she called to them, raising a fist into the air. “In just a short hour, we storm Fodlan’s greatest landmark, Garreg Mach! We will endure casualties— fatalities! But we must push past our sorrows and press on through nightfall if need be. We must chase after the sun no matter where it goes! We may be up against dragons. But _they_ are up against humanity!”

The Imperial army let out a cheer in response, one that rivaled the actual thunder rumbling around them. In the crowd, Miklan saw soldiers he didn’t recognize as well as those he did: the Agarthans and Ladislava, Metodey, and Randolph. Off to the side, Hubert stood before a group of Garreg Mach students who had recently joined up with them. Edelgard had introduced these young men and women as the other members of the Black Eagles.

They weren’t what Miklan had imagined. He thought they’d be as cold and focused as Edelgard herself. But not one of them, aside from Hubert, seemed confident. They shared sideways glances and clung to each others’ sides. The smallest among them, a girl named Bernadetta, clutched her quiver and squeaked softly to herself as the rain ran off her bushy hair. 

The emperor approached them.

“Are you all ready?” she asked. They stayed quiet for just a moment. Then a young man with orange hair who had previously introduced himself as Ferdinand nodded. Like with Randolph, Miklan felt that Ferdinand seemed out of place. Not only was his father the fat, whiny Lord Aegir that Miklan had seen Ladislava and Metodey arrest… But he carried himself like a classic noble, the kind of person who would reject everything Edelgard stood for. So why was he here? Miklan made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Edelgard,” said Ferdinand with a sigh. “I question you a lot. But this… this is the most gravely I’ve ever done so. You intend to raze the place that brought us all together. And to tear apart a system that has kept the peace for centuries. You’re having us fight the Lions and the Deer. I stand for my homeland… But…”

He couldn’t seem to finish the thought.

“We feel the same as you do, Ferdie.” A woman with long brunette hair, called Dorothea, clasped her hands. “Believe me, I have my reasons for wanting this current system of ours to burn. But I am not certain of this path. It runs across our friends. Over… Ingrid… And Lorenz. Over Claude, Professor Manuela, Felix, Sylvain, a-and still there are more names!” Dorothea shook her head. Miklan stiffened when she cried his brother’s name and hoped his armor concealed it. “None of them are faceless foot soldiers,” she went on miserably. “They have names… and smiles…”

Edelgard nodded.

“I understand that well. In war, hatred is like a mercy. If you hate your enemy, then you are spared other, worse feelings. That is why blackening your heart is…” Something seemed to occur to her. “I wonder if Dimitri… Nevermind.” She shook her head and droplets leaped from her hair. “Thinking about how any of them feel is not productive. I’ve tried to harden my heart to all of them in the past and it seems that it keeps softening up whenever I drop my guard for even a moment.”

“Could that be a sign?” asked an Eagle named Petra. “I will walk behind you to the end. No matter your pathway. But, in Brigid, we have saying that, in your language, is like… ‘gods whisper in centers.’ What is your center saying?” 

Edelgard turned back towards the distant turrets of Garreg Mach. 

“I am not certain. But if what it’s saying truly comes from a god… then I know to ignore it.”

She reached up and grabbed her horse's reins and the message was clear.

They were to enter the final leg of their march. The battle line awaited.


	37. Beyond the Siege pt. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Like I always say, I'm so scared people will just not care about my work anymore when I go on hiatuses. T.T  
> Sorry, things have just been hard to juggle with work. I also was writing a little of an Until Dawn fanfic. It's called Psychosis Room if you wanna check it out. But I intend whole heartedly to finish Those with Ruinous Envy. 
> 
> This chapter and next are both going to be long. Thanks for staying with me!

The rain didn’t let up. Even after soldiers evacuated the town at the base of the monastery and the two armies— the Church and the Empire— collided, the sky wept. 

Claude found himself tearing through the city, bow in hand, shooting whoever he had a clear shot at and searching for enemy generals. The longer he dashed through the muddy streets, the more he felt anxious. He ran past monsters, warriors locked in battle, and the corpses that Dimitri had so fervently prayed for throughout the week. Claude's heart pattered more quickly than the raindrops. 

_I’ll be okay_ , he knew. _But the others…_

A bolt from a ballista sailed past him and wedged itself into a monster’s Imperial mask. The creature roared and fell back onto a merchant stall, crushing the thatch roof like paper. Ashe and Leonie were doing their jobs: manning the ballistae and keeping people like Claude protected. 

Still, Claude worried about everyone. If this battle went south, he’d know when to pack things up and leave the war grounds. He’d find some private place to lick his wound and formulate a counter attack, a scheme. But his friends? Claude could see them planting their boots into the soggy earth and choosing their pride over their lives. That was just how people were in Fodlan. And Claude couldn’t understand it. 

He didn’t understand that societal version of pride. To him, pride meant saving lives. It meant protecting the weak. It meant promoting equality. It meant making the world better for everyone. Letting everyone see him die just as a final statement— that was foolishness. 

_But it’s what Lorenz and the others believe in…_ Claude thought with dread. At least he had Hilda. She thought the way he did; she believed that there was no point in laying her life down when she could run. If Garreg Mach fell, Claude needed her to help him convince the other Deer to flee to Leicester. 

But the best option was to win. 

Finally, Claude spotted an enemy general— one of the Agarthans. The man seemed to revel in the chaos around him. He let out a rusty laugh and slung wild curses. His eyes— one larger than the other— widened as he watched a small beast bite into a priest’s side. And, in the back of his mind, he knew that this Agarthan had been with Sylvain and Miklan in Shambhala— he’d watched Sylvain’s suffering with that same pleased expression. 

_This is the guy who Sylvain said had a familiar voice…_

Claude could hear it too, a certain weathered edge to the Agarthan’s laugh. Unpleasantly, a switch flipped in Claude's brain.

He approached calmly until the man noticed. 

“It was you. The other traitor,” said Claude. Overhead, the rumbling sky made him sound quiet and icy. Rain ran down his cheeks. “Tomas.”

“Clever boy. As usual.” Tomas grinned. He looked nothing like how he normally did. Very little of the peaceful, elderly librarian remained. Now, his hair was white and veins bulged in his large, pale forehead. And yet, Claude could still see a sliver of Tomas— in the way the man hunched and clutched his cane.

“A shame,” Claude said. “Believe me, you are one of the last people I want to kill. If I felt like I could, I’d still try to spare you.” He notched an arrow, pointing it through the downpour. “But I know that’s not possible. You want Fodlan to burn. Don’t you, Tomas?”

“Address me as Solon in this form.” Tomas, now Solon, clawed his fingers over the top of his cane. “But you aren’t wrong. There is nothing wrong with burning down the old so that the new can rise. Edelgard understands the power, and the symbolism, of fire. And I’m disappointed you don’t, Claude. I’m sure we’ve spoken about it before: the way fresh greenery sprouts from charred forests. The way a phoenix is born from ash.”

Claude slowly pulled his bowstring. 

“Don’t lecture me. Nothing justifies any of this.”

The former librarian cackled. 

“You’re bolder than I thought you’d be. Perhaps, you do have what it takes to rip Leicester from the Church.”

“Maybe. But I will do so on my own terms.”

“Ah.” Solon raised his cane. “I’m afraid that isn’t an option.”

Toxic violent light arched from the Agarthan’s hand and up his staff. When he swung, the magic shot towards Claude in a deadly wave. Falling to a knee, Claude let the hex sail over him; he released his sting and returned fire.

Solon knocked the blow aside easily. Now, his face fell into a focused, cold expression. 

They exchanged blow after bow, arrows and magic. Claude kept an eye on his quiver and tried to scoop arrows off the ground when he could. Soon, Solon wised up and began melting them with increased magic. But he’d lose stamina soon. Claude knew that they were playing until either he ran out of arrows or Solon depleted his magic. Of course, Claude always kept a backup dagger in his cuff. But he wasn’t a huge fan of close combat.

_FWOOM!_

With a frustrated roar, Solon let loose a Banshee Θ. Claude darted away but misjudged the reach of the spell. An orb of purple light nailed him in the shoulder and knocked him off balance. He slid on the slick cobblestone and lost his footing. Claude grunted as he landed on his back. 

_FWOOM!_

A miasma slammed into Claude’s body. He lurched and the puddles danced on the ground around him. Solon stepped forward, cane raised. With effort, Claude pulled himself to his feet. His soaked coat felt so heavy. It was torn in places and Claude’s skin was red where the magic had hit him.

With a deep breath, Claude willed his Crest to appear. Its glow soothed him and faded his wounds before vanishing once more.

“What a pesky crest,” remarked Solon. “Though… I suppose that means a sample of your blood could be useful to us. I’ll decide once I’ve killed you.”

Claude was down to his last three arrows. He panted and tucked his sopping braid behind his ear. A flash of lighting faulted the sky. 

Again, Claude remembered that rainy day in the library with Tomas. That rain had been cozy, unlike this chilling downpour. The storm had been pleasant to watch from the warm, golden glow of the library. It was a shame that such a comforting memory had turned out to be a lie. Maybe Claude had given Garreg Mach too much credit. It was a spectacular place… But Edelgard, Hubert, Solon, and Jeritza had infiltrated its shadows and made them deeper, darker. Things had always been shadowy beneath the surface.

The night they’d met Byleth… Claude knew now that it had been part of this war as well. The bandit ambush had been arranged. To kill him and Dimitri. Of course, that evening hadn’t gone like Edelgard had planned. Who could have predicted Byleth?

Still, Claude couldn’t help the brief rush of anger he felt towards Edelgard. She didn’t hate him; he knew that she didn’t. The way she’d looked at him and spoken to him in the Holy Tomb proved that. Yet… she was willing to so easily accept his death when presented with any simple reason. Edelgard held firm and flaked out in an endless circle. She took the tough road over the easy one, but she cheated on each step. A heartless conqueror and a tragic heroine— she saw herself as both. 

_Just commit to something, Edelgard,_ thought Claude. _Who are you? Thi_ __nk_ a little harder about the things around you. _

Solon swung his cane again, but his aim was off. The spell traveled too far to Claude’s left.

_Now!_

Claude shot an arrow and then a second. They both hit their marks. Solon cried out as one plunged into his arm and the other into his side. He fell to the ground and his cane clattered to stone. Twitching madly, he glared up at Claude with furious, incongruent eyes that were darker than the sky above them. 

Taking a deep breath, Claude stepped forward. Though Solon looked beaten, it was possible he still had a few tricks. 

“If you’re willing to talk, we might have a reason to keep you around,” Claude told him.

Solon sneered. “As if I would bend to your kind!”

“My kind?” 

For a moment, Claude’s mind went to Almyra, to his father and to his half-siblings and cousins. He’d tried so hard to keep his bloodline hidden. How could Solon know? Had he figured it out from Claude’s looks? From something he’d said? No… That couldn’t be it. There was no way Solon could know that. He meant something else…

“What do you mean ‘my kind’?” he pressed. 

Digging his fingers into muddy cracks in the stone and shouting over a roll of thunder, Solon cried,

“You pathetic humans— servants of the Nabateans!” His eyes flashed hotter than the lightning. “Look at you with your little bow, Claude. It’s a mere toy! You’re the brightest mind Fodlan can offer and you know nothing! The Immaculate One has kept you simple. You are a base animal! _Primitive_!”

Claude tried to chew on that. Solon had said so much in only a few moments. 

“If you think you can hurt me with name-calling, I’ll have to disappoint you,” Claude said at last, trying his best to keep a poker face. He raised an eyebrow. “So, you do know more about the Immaculate One than you let on. And what’s this about being simple? Tell me what you mean.” 

Before Solon could respond, a voice called from behind him.

“Claude!”

Hilda ran towards them. Her twintails were drenched in rain so that they looked darker, more rose than pink now. Her uniform was torn and the knee plates she wore were dented. In her hand she grasped her battle axe which was filthy, covered in mud, slicked with rain, and caked in blood. 

At that moment, Solon spun. He faced Hilda and a final burst of purple and black light formed a spike in his fingers. The veins in his hands protruded. 

Claude’s body worked automatically. He slid the dagger from his cuff and thrust. 

A dull _thunk_ filled the air.

He stared at the hilt of his blade, now buried in Solon’s back, and then at Hilda, her face twisting in horror as she realized how close she’d come to getting hit head on with a desperate man’s final curse. 

Solon twitched and then fell forward. Slowly, his skin darkened until it was as black as his eyes. Then, the Agarthan Solon, the librarian Tomas, crumbled like ash. 

Hilda swallowed. 

“I’m sorry. I assumed he was beaten. I wouldn’t have…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Some blood had gotten onto Claude’s hands and he held them up to the rain. 

He had killed Tomas. One of the few people in Garreg Mach who seemed to understand him. Now, Claude could almost see Dimitri’s point of view, his paranoia and anguish. There was a regretful shame that came with betrayal and it stirred up hatred. 

_Dimitri has a good heart,_ thought Claude. _That’s what causes the madness. But I've always been dishonorable. So I’ll be okay…_

He turned to see Hilda’s eyes on him. Her brows tilted upwards and her lips pursed. 

“You have that look,” she told him. “Lysithea and I have talked about it. You look like you’re saying things to yourself that… neither of us would agree with.” She sighed. 

“I appreciate that,” Claude said. “But it’s best that you don’t think too hard about it.” He checked his quiver and saw one arrow remaining. Patting the flask at his hip, he said, “I’m going to track down some more arrows. But, before I head off… What did you need me for?”

Hilda blinked and her mouth fell open. 

“R-right! I saw them! Edelgard and Dimitri. He spotted her trying to get to the wall and went after her. They’re fighting now!”

Claude gritted his teeth.

“Thanks for letting me know. I’m going after those two. I trust that Teach and Seteth will take care of the remaining Agarthan generals.” With a breath, he took off down the pathway, back towards the thick of the battlegrounds.

*****

Byleth and Jeralt were together when they spotted Thales and his battalion. 

The Agarthan general saw— or rather, sensed— Byleth immediately. He made quick work of a group of priests with a miasmatic hex. Then he turned and watched the professor with milk-white eyes that seemed hotter than the distant seams of lightning in the velvet sky.

“Come, Fell Star,” he beckoned. “And let me test you.”  
  
“Kid…” Jeralt’s voice was low.

He was afraid, but not for himself. Byleth felt the same. She wanted to tell her father to run; that same itch of panic she felt when she stood by Claude crept into her heart. Although she’d been able to save him back in Shambhala… she could not get over seeing his empty body slip off of Miklan’s lance tip. And she could not help but remember how time had adjusted itself when she’d tried to save Sylvain. That night felt as though it were eons ago now and yet… Byleth hadn’t been herself since then. She kept her fears sealed up but losing faith in her trump card, in her Divine Pulse… it worried her. Byleth wished she could speak to Sothis, but the goddess was missing, silent. 

Before they’d stopped the javelin of light, Sothis had looked upon Byleth sadly.

_“It couldn’t last, you know. I’ve come to realize something. Your mind is beautiful, arcane. Clever and thoughtful. Yet, on the outside you’re… often someone else. You look in the mirror with those weak eyes. Heh… they’ve always reminded me of a dead fish you know… When you are with Claude and the others, your heart is so bright and I think he’s begun to see it. But not as I do. Byleth, I wanted to know why. It made me so strangely sad. I wanted to know why so much of you seemed to be mine alone. And recently, I’ve come to a conclusion: It is all my fault. After all… who else has a goddess’s heart set within her own? Only you. You have retreated so far inside yourself. If we fully become one… Perhaps that will end. I want better for you.”_

But Byleth wasn’t sure if _that’s_ what she had wanted for herself. She never felt like a slave to a higher power or like a pawn, like Edelgard seemed to think she was. She and Sothis had been friends, partners. An adult keeping watch over a child and, the funny thing was, that Byleth could hardly tell who was who. She felt safe with Sothis in her head and Sothis had enjoyed Byleth's company. 

There was still so much to learn about Sothis’ past. She was the goddess… but then… who was she to Rhea? What had happened when she ruled Fodlan? Byleth hadn’t wanted Sothis to go, even though it was necessary. Sothis had imbued Byleth with great power… But Byleth had always cared for Sothis' voice, her advice, more than power. 

“Fell Star,” repeated Byleth. “Is that what you call Sothis?”

Thales frowned deeply. “It is what she is. A creature fallen from the heavens.”

“What did she ever do to you?”

With a scoff, Thales said, “She and her offspring sat atop humanity and we Agarthans, who are a greater breed of human. We could not allow that. Everyone can choose their own destiny. And If we choose to shed blood then no other being should interfere. Sothis sought to correct us, to place us under the leadership of her brood. She was a power hungry, patronizing fool.”

“You act like murder is just a culture,” growled Jeralt. 

With a raised eyebrow, Thales replied,

“You stink of the Nabateans… but you are human, aren’t you?” He watched Jeralt for a moment before nodding. “Ah… I see. Rhea. Well, I suppose she understands the power of blood as well as we do.”

Jeralt narrowed his eyes. “Are you speaking of when she gave me my…” He trailed off, his eyes flitting to Byleth. “Remind me to explain a few things to you after this is over, Kid.”

Byleth pointed her sword towards Thales. “I will, Father. For now, I will move on your mark.”

Father and daughter stood before their opponent in the rain. Thales clicked his tongue and raised his hands. 

“Very well. Enough talking. See if you can reach me!”

He flicked his wrist and his battalion lunged forward as one, men and women in bird-beaked masks rushing forward with coal-black weapons. 

“Forward!” shouted Jeralt.

  
  


*****  
  


Dimitri saw her just as she reached the market. He couldn’t help but be a little impressed at how she threaded her way through the chaos. Edelgard was like a little, white mouse darting through a maze of cats. She saw each tooth and claw. She knew which soldiers to avoid and which to engage with, who she could make quick work of and who would slow her down. She had a goal, a mission.

 _She’s after Lady Rhea_ , Dimitri realized. With a snarl, he bounded after her. 

Rhea was just within the monastery walls. She’d lead the evacuation efforts and now guarded the final line. She’d offered to give the job to Seteth and Flayn, but the Church leaders— particularly Catherine— had insisted she’d remain away from the thick of the fighting. Afterall, she was their flag. If the enemy seized her, the game would end. 

But Dimitri had his eye on the other flag.

With a cry, he scooped up an abandoned broadsword from the ground and launched it towards his target. Edelgard avoided the attack just in time and it impaled itself into the wall behind her. She’d gotten so close to the gate. Frantically, she whipped her head back and forth, searching. Finally, she spotted Dimitri and pursed her lips. 

The storm made her look fearsome; the downpour had stripped away not her composure— she was collected as always— but the overlay of her heart. She was out to kill and trample and claw her way up mounds of corpses if need be, as long as she could reach the flag she needed. 

The rain stuck her pearl-white bangs to her skin. She wiped them away with the side of her hand, revealing a forehead creased with anger and a pair of lavender eyes that glowed almost as brightly as the light of the Hades Lysithea had used to burn Kronya to a husk. Edelgard’s stance stiffened as she drew in air; her shoulders rose and sank under the weight of her wet hair. 

With a scream, Dimitri rushed her, stabbing forward with his lance. Edelgard flipped her axe upside down and brought it down upon the lance, pinning the tip to the glossy stone. 

She and Dimitri were so close that he could hear her breath and smell staled bergamot on it. He tightened his fist on his lance shaft and then, with a grunt, flung up his weapon. Edelgard became unbalanced, but managed to dodge a swing from his fist. His punch cracked the wall behind her and Dimitri felt his skin split beneath his glove. 

A flash of lightning illuminated Edelgard as she backed up and glanced towards the gate, with a start, Dimitri saw that the line had been pushed by Imperial troops. Rhea was nowhere to be see, having retreated into Garreg Mach. Dimitri was sure she was as bitter as he was to see the line fall into the castle grounds. 

_No matter,_ he thought. _They can play around in the courtyards for now. Then, I’ll end them all._

A small noise from Edelgard drew Dimitri’s attention back. He saw her hurry through the gate. A thick, molten rage sludged inside his chest.

“DON’T TURN AWAY FROM ME!” he bellowed, pursuing her. 

She gasped and made a sharp turn, dashing up a side set of stairs leading to the top of the wall. Dimitri followed and hurled his lance. She managed to knock it aside just in time but the impact flung her from her feet. She fell onto the top step as Dimitri’s lance clattered back down the stairs. He scooped it up as he ran and thrust it. Edelgard rolled and scrambled towards the top step, pulling herself to her feet. She turned to face him, her eyes even brighter, more furious than before. In front of her chest, the Crest of Seiros alit.

Dimitri rolled his eyes and summoned his own Crest. They watched each other, two lords blazing with the glow of their Crests.

“Look at you,” Edelgard murmured. “You know, Miklan asked me about you before we arrived. He asked how it could be that we share the same mother. I confess… I still do not clearly remember my time in Faerghus. But I somehow know that you were a soft, sensitive child. Far more so than I ever was. And now?” She scowled. “You’re like an animal. It’s so disgusting. This is what the Church does to people’s hearts.”

A smirk crept up onto Dimitri’s lips. He spat onto the stairs and laughed. 

“Edelgard, do you hear yourself? Is there anything you won’t blame the Church for? I almost want you to win just so I can watch you realize that all your problems still exist— Rhea or no Rhea. I want you to despair.” He felt his face fall into a cold expression. “Almost. Seeing you die would still be far more satisfying. And I don’t care if it takes becoming an animal to kill you. That’s a choice that I made on my own.”

“I see.” Edelgard straightened her axe. “If you wish to be an animal, I’ll put you down as such.”

Dimitri’s hands shook, vibrated with rage. 

“I CARED FOR YOU!” he roared. “As did Claude and Professor Byleth! And look at what you offered us!” He flung his arm out towards the battlefield. 

Edelgard looked ready to retort but only pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow, bracing herself. 

With a disgusted snarl, Dimitri lunged. He was aware that Edelgard held the high ground, but he didn’t care. She swung her axe and caught him in the shoulder, right where one of his armor plates was. Her blade broke through the steel and sunk shallowly into flesh. He kicked and she relented, pulling back to avoid the blow. 

Now they were both atop the wall. Edelgard watched Dimitri’s movements carefully, all too aware that any strike he could connect, while his Crest was still active, would cripple her. Dimitri planted his feet, feeling blood beneath his sleeve. He blinked rain off his lashes and tried to bite back his anger long enough to strategize. He had a few dozen pounds and a good nine inches on her. In most cases, overpowering such a small opponent would be simple. But Edelgard was different. She fought too dexterously; she had a way of knowing how to use everything to her advantage— weight, momentum, shape, size— she knew how to gage and use it all. Once, Dimitri had even seen her topple Raphael during a training season, just by pushing him in the right direction, unbalancing him. 

Throwing wet hair behind her back, Edelgard struck first. Dimitri brought up his lance with both hands and used it to catch her blade. Both their Crests still burned, but Dimitri could feel himself starting to lose the will to keep his active. Now, keeping her at bay was easy but…

His Crest faded.

Seizing the opportunity, Edelgard yelled and flung her axe under his lance— finally hitting the weapon upwards and out of his hands. Cursing, Dimitri avoided a swing by falling to his knees. The position boiled his blood even hotter.

_I will never EVER kneel to you!_

In that minute, Edelgard’s own Crest faded and Dimitri shot up, catching her axe blade between his palms. Thunder rumbled as he pushed his hands in. Edelgard tried to pull away, but they were at a stalemate— her refusing to give up her weapon and him refusing to release it. 

_Just… once more…_ He thought. _Just one more time…_

And as he prayed, a magic at his core obeyed him. His Crest lit once more, briefly.

But long enough.

The axe bent like a toy. Finally, Edelgard tried to abandon it. She let go, but Dimitri had anticipated that. He swung, catching her in the head with the axe shaft. She stumbled and he wound back his fist, punching into her gut. 

Her face contorted and she fell backward, coughing up saliva. 

Dimitri stood over her, breathing hard and suddenly aware of how exhausted he was. His shoulder hurt like mad where she’d cleaved it. But… the fight was over. He raised a foot.

“I’m going to stop your heart,” he growled. “I’m going to smash that ugly thing.”

She grit her teeth and tried to rise but he hit her down with a sharp, light kick. 

_Hurry up…_ his mind told him.

_Woosh! Thunk!_

Both Edelgard and Dimitri stared in shock as an arrow sprouted from Edelgard’s arm. 

“Enough, guys.” 

Claude walked up the stairs calmly, his bow at the ready and Hilda close behind him. He wore the most plastered-on smile Dimitri had ever seen. But he didn’t know what emotion Claude was trying to hide with that fake, pleasant expression. 

“That arrow is poisoned,” Claude said. “A super nasty toxin, but not deadly. Edelgard, you’re going to completely shut down in a few minutes. And I can’t say I can predict when you’ll wake up.” He turned to Dimitri. “So that’s it. There’s no point in continuing this. Isn’t that what your ‘honor’ dictates?”

Dimitri lowered his foot to the ground and turned to Claude. Although Claude held his gaze, Hilda squeaked, terrified by whatever expression Dimitri was making. 

“Get out of here,” he hissed. “You have duties elsewhere. Don’t interfere or I’ll hurt you.” 

Claude chuckled, but the edge of his voice was tinged in nervousness. 

“Come on, friend… don’t say things that you’ll feel all guilty for later. I know you, your code of knights and all that nonsense. You don’t kill unconscious opponents.”

“You don’t know me like you think you do.”

“Claude…” said Hilda softly. Dimitri could see it on her face: she wanted Claude to back down. She was scared for him. That expression of hers did almost melt Dimitri a bit. Did she really believe he’d kill Claude? 

“Fine.” Claude shook his head. “Maybe I don’t understand _every_ side of you. In the last few days, you’ve certainly shown me a few parts of yourself that I’ve never seen before. But… I understand one side of you clearly… the side that’s so— so honorable that I hate it and am a little jealous of it at the same time. I’m going to trust in that side.”

Dimitri didn’t fully understand what Claude was rambling about. But the words gave him pause. 

_Jealous?_

That didn’t seem possible. Claude had so much. He had a cool head. He had Byleth. He had housemates who felt comfortable joking with him and speaking with him as equals, friends. Dimitri felt as though he’d always been the jealous one but… 

_Everyone probably just wants what they don’t have_ , Dimitri thought bitterly. _And it ruins everything._ _Miklan wanted a Crest and Sylvain wanted to be loved and Claude wants to be respected and I want…_

Dimitri swallowed. He wanted too many things. He wanted his friendship with Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid to return to the way it was. He wanted to be a fair prince and, eventually, a fair king. He wanted the world to be just. He wanted to…

Suddenly, his thoughts returned to Edelgard. He spun and saw that she’d moved and propped herself up against the stone guard of the wall.

“Stop,” Dimitri stepped forward. “I’m going to tear you apart. That’s… that’s what I want.”

“Edelgard, Dimitri. Both of you hold,” said Claude. “This is pointless. You can’t—” 

“ _Nothing_ I do is pointless.” Edelgard’s voice sounded like a hiss as she spoke through her pain. “Everything I’m doing is for the good of Fodlan. I can’t stop… be… because neither of you will lift a damn finger to help anyone in this country.”

Claude tried to get closer. “I’m not like you. I don’t make these grand moves. But I promise, I’m not going to do _nothing_. I’ll—” 

“You’ll let things continue how they are until you find your opening.” Edelgard’s voice was weak. “And I sacrifice people because I cannot wait any longer. We’re both cold. And Dimitri… he’s just senseless.” 

Dimitri reached out his arm and knocked Claude back. Hilda gasped from the staircase. 

“I’ll let you say a prayer, Edelgard,” muttered Dimitri. 

She scowled and glanced towards the horizon.

“You may want to say one yourself.”

Claude struggled to his feet. “I’m surprised you can still come up with one-liners like that. I’ve never seen anyone fend of that poison for so long.”

“I’m being serious. This battle is not one you can win. You shall see soon. As long as I do not get captured then… It will… be all right…” She coughed and her fingers fluffered to where the poisoned arrow stuck from her arm like a pin. “I… do… not… need to take Rhea myself… that was… a matter of p-pride…”

With an agonized moan, she pulled herself back onto the railing. Her body fluttered like a wildflower, minutes within snapping beneath the rain. Then she released a puff of steam from her lips into the frigid air. Her eyes rolled back and one of her heels slipped off the wall. 

“Edelgard!” cried Hilda as the body of the Empress fell backwards. 

Dimitri went stiff.

But Claude seemed hardly surprised. His emerald eyes widened as if seeing an entirely different scene, a far off memory of which he already knew the ending. 

A pegasus, steered by Petra, rose above them. In her hand, she held Edelgard’s wrist. The Emperor’s body flapped in the storm, the bruises forming on her face and the arrow in her shoulder were briefly illuminated by a burst of lightning. 

Grunting, Petra flung Edelgard onto the pegasus and began to soar towards the far lines.

Dimitri recovered from his shock.

“Claude,” he said. “Shoot her!”

Compelled, perhaps, by instinct, Claude raised his bow and notched an arrow. Then the moment of adrenaline passed and he lowered the weapon. Petra turned and watched Claude with an expression Dimitri could not make out. 

When they’d vanished, Dimitri turned and scowled at Claude. 

“Fool,” he said. 

Claude didn’t get angry. He shook his head with a deep, soft frown.

“Maybe so.” 

“You two.” Hilda stepped off the staircase and gently put her hands on their backs. Dimitri flinched, surprised that she’d be bold enough to touch him. He nearly hit her away, but then saw how large her eyes were. She gestured towards the battlefield, the part visible from the stairs. There, they saw an Agarthian general dashing through the mud. Behind him, Byleth and Jeralt chased. He turned briefly to send a hex flying. Byleth screamed and pushed forward, absorbing most of the magic with her relic. The three combatants vanished into one of the entrances into Garreg Mach. 

Claude wiped rain off his brow.

“The grounds have been breached,” he said. “That guy wants to take care of Rhea and Byleth at once. Cocky bastard.”

Dimitri watched soldiers— those of the Church army and Imperial army flood into the monastery grounds. He removed a glove and let the rain wash the blood that had dripped off his shoulder. 

“You need to get that treated,” said Claude. “Fall back for now. Your target is gone. I already took care of the guy masquerading as Tomas. I have time to spare. Don’t worry, I’ll bring our precious teacher back safe and sound.”

“No. I’m not retreating. I don’t like what Edelgard said.” Dimitri frowned.

_This battle is not one you can win. You shall see soon._

Letting out a grey breath of his own, Dimitri tossed his glove off the end of the wall and retrieved his lance. The metal was so cold that it felt hot on his palm. Even if he did step out of the battle now, he knew he would not rest, such a violent frustration coursed through his veins. Rest would not come until he achieved peace of Faerghus, for those who died during Duscur and those who Miklan tormented in the Margraviate. 

“I’ll do it, Father. Glenn,” Dimitri whispered. “I’ll send Edelgard and Miklan to answer to you…”

He would serve out their revenges for as long as it took. Even if it gave him a lifetime of misery.


	38. Beyond the Siege pt. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! 
> 
> Like I said, this is a long one, but it ends the battle of Garreg Mach. Our conclusion will be next time.

Thales stopped running when he reached the green house. He turned and hurled another curse at Byleth and Jeralt. Byleth darted left and Jeralt headed right, letting the magic sail between them. With a click of his tongue, Thales straightened. He gazed from the pond to the dining hall and to the dormitories. Soldiers were beginning to flood the area, tearing apart the grass and buildings as they battled. The scene hurt Byleth’s heart. She remembered walking down these pathways when she strolled towards the dining hall for a cup of coffee before classes. On the lawn outside the dorms, Manuela had taught her and the Deer how to dance. Fondly, she recalled partnering with Manuela and then Claude. Together, they’d waltzed across the grass. Claude had seemed bored and antsy as if wanting to do— or say— something he couldn’t quite bring himself to.

_“Do you not like dancing?” Byleth had wondered._

_“Dancing is fine,” he said. A small smile played on his lips. “But I don’t know what this is. It’s kind of slow and easy, don’t you think?”_

_“Very well,” said Byleth. “How would you prefer to dance?”_

_Claude thought about the question. A genuine, contemplative gaze passed over his eyes. He shifted his hand from Byleth’s waist to the small of her back as he dipped her. The sun beat down over the yard and made his cedar hair and tan skin all but glow. Byleth smelled pine wafting from him_

_“I’ll teach you,” he said at last. “Someday. Promise. Maybe you could even visit where I grew up. My family loves dancing.”_

_“I’d like that. Someday.”_

The heat of that afternoon faded to cold, wet air— leaving Byleth with melancholy. She wondered if that vague “someday” would ever arrive. A wicked part of her brain asked her how she could be sure that Claude was even still alive. He could be still moving through the fray with his bow. Or he could be dead in the mud, vacant eyes staring at the weeping sky. There was no way for Byleth to know what had become of him now. 

Not until she defeated Thales.

“It’s dangerous to lose focus around me, girl,” said the Agarthan. “Though, maybe, death would not be so bad for you. We’ve already broken the battle line. Soon the Archbishop will be found and executed. And any prisoners will not be treated well. That red-haired boy knows plenty about that.”

Byleth gripped her sword tightly, trying not to imagine Sylvain and all he had suffered from Miklan and the Agarthans. 

“You will answer for that,” she said. 

“Careful. You’re beginning to sound like the mad prince.”

“He’s not mad.”

“Kid, get ready.” Jeralt fell into place beside her. His expression was one of worry, but also of pride. Byleth knew she’d changed greatly from the day she’d arrived at the monastery with him. Her father loved how she talked about her students, how she understood them and was ready to defend them. But he was right: now was the time for focus.

Again, Thales attacked. The earth around him shook as he blasted purple light towards them. Byleth sent her own burst of magic, a powerful Seraphim spell to counter the darkness. For a moment, the area was filled with yellow light and the scattering fragments of a deep, violet curse. Thales was unbothered.

“Come, Fell Star! Let me tear you apart!”

Thales started for Byleth. Hot magic ebbed from his white fingers. Jeralt charged next, winding back his lance and jabbing forward. Thales knocked the weapon aside and nearly clipped Jeralt with the magic emanating from his hands. But, in that moment, almost quicker that Byleth could process, a Crest flashed before Jeralt. He used the glowing emblem to power himself forward. Ducking beneath Thales’ arm, Jeralt snatched up his lance and slid into a firm position, his Crest fading. 

“Father…” Byleth frowned. She hadn’t known that her father bore a Crest. Yet, the reveal didn’t exactly surprise her. He’d been acting strangely ever since the Holy Tomb. He was like a knot, slowly coming undone. A lock, rusting. Byleth knew that soon he’d reveal all he knew about Rhea and Sothis. As soon as this battle was over.

“Uff!” Byleth grunted as she caught another one of Thales’ blasts on the flat end of the Sword of the Creator. She almost fell back into a puddle at the greenhouse’s entryway, but caught herself by placing a hand on the glass wall. 

Jeralt took the opening and swung his lance towards Thales again. Curling his lip, the Agarthan tried to drive away the lance tip with magic. 

But Jeralt had predicted that. 

The captain feigned forward then struck at Thales, catching him in the side. Thales bellowed as Jeralt’s lance jabbed him near the ribs. He kicked Jeralt away and jumped back, watching dark blood drip off his robes. 

Now, as the sky turned pink, the rain finally began to let up. A cold gust of air blew through Byleth’s wet hair and chilled her. But she kept a strong grasp on her hilt and a careful eye on Thales. 

The Agarthan hunched over, catching droplets of blood with hooked fingers. He swore beneath his breath all while glaring at Jeralt. Anger permeated his pale face and the look of retribution in his eyes unsettled Byleth… as if Thales knew something she did not.

“I know you’re there,” he growled. “Kill him.”

_SHINK!_

Jeralt’s eyes went wide as something protruded from his belly, a little black curve of metal. The captain’s lips parted and turned red. That red oozed from his mouth and dripped down his chin and matted his beard. Behind him, a shadow formed and then solidified into a smug, narrow-eyed woman. 

“I’m disappointed in you, Thales,” Lady Cornelia said. “Isn’t asking me to do this the same as admitting defeat?”

Gracelessly, she pulled her black blade out of Jeralt and watched him fall. 

“Careful how you speak to me,” snapped Thales, though Byleth hardly heard him. Almost numb, she watched her father’s fallen form. Her body felt coated in frost, from the inside out. 

“FATHER!” 

The world warped and dissolved.

 _Please_ , she thought. _Please._

The image of her Crest, like crossing laces burning blue, illuminated her mind. The hands of time spun in reverse until Byleth’s universe realigned and straightened. The Crest of Flames faded as the world rebuilt itself. That look of retribution reappeared in Thales’ gaze and he opened his mouth as he watched a still-standing Jeralt.

“NO!” Byleth let The Sword of the Creator unlink and pierce forward, right to where Cornelia had appeared. 

But her blade hit empty air. 

_SHINK!_

Cornelia, with a fox-like smile on her face, appeared at Jeralt’s front. Her jet black blade sunk through his abdomen.

“You looked like you needed a little help, Sir,” she giggled to Thales. 

Byleth’s sword, still unlinked, clattered from her hand and fell to the ground, tossing up puddles. She tried to activate Divine Pulse once more but it was dormant, power having run dry.

_No…_

Jeralt slid from the tip of Cornelia’s sword and his blood mixed with the rainwater. 

_No._

His head turned wearily towards Byleth as Cornelia raised her blade once more.

“NO!”

The voice hadn’t come from Byleth.

A figure fell from one of the balconies above and landed before Jeralt, catching Cornelia’s strike with a round, shimmering shield. 

Rhea’s robes drifted down as she pushed back. Sparks flew off Cornelia’s blade. The Archbishop’s eyes were wide and serpentine. Her lips drew into a snarl as she pulled her shield back and swung a wavy sword, a flamberge, at Cornelia. With a scream, Cornelia threw herself to the ground. A vibrantly black aura sailed over her and nearly hit Rhea. But the Archbishop let out a shriek of her own. Her Crest glowed, sending a holy light through the Crest of Seiros on her shield. She swung, dissipating the curse. She panted, catching her breath. 

Thales sighed when he saw that his attack had failed. He stood at Cornelia’s side as she rose once more.

“Just the person I was seeking,” he said.

“Shut your mouth.” Rhea spoke the words at an even, low volume. But they sounded as dangerous as if she’d screamed them with all her might. “I will take you and you will be sentenced to the most wretched death possible. I will bring back punishments banned eons ago _just_ for you!”

Thales smirked. “My, did that human man truly mean so much to you?”

The fury dropped from Rhea’s face. Her eyes drifted to Jeralt as he heaved and watched her with a glassy expression. Byleth stumbled for her father and took his hands. The warmth was fading. 

“All my knights mean so much to me,” said Rhea softly. But her tone was hiding something; the gaze she gave Jeralt was deeper than how she looked at most of her knights. “You will NEVER touch a single one of them again.”

“Such truisms.” Thales raised his arms to fight, but then his brow knit. Byleth clutched Jeralt’s hands tighter and followed his gaze towards the pond. There, Dimitri, Claude, and Hilda ran towards them.

Thales cursed. 

“Let’s battle again soon,” he said at last. “When it is just you and me, Nabatean.” 

He grabbed Cornelia by the wrist and their bodies flashed and vanished. Rhea thrust her flamberge forward just a moment too late and her sword struck nothing but an afterimage. Swearing beneath her breath in some archaic language Byleth didn’t understand, Rhea turned. Her eyes softened as she knelt at Jeralt’s side. 

“My dear…” she said, her voice like a feather. 

Byleth placed her forehead against Jeralt’s. She’d been solitary since childhood and rarely touched anyone, even her father. She could count the amount of times they’d embraced with one hand. But she could sense a time long ago when he’d first held her, back when she was tiny and weak. As she grew, he watched over her with protective eyes and had guided her down the path of a mercenary. His presence and patience was a constant, an anchor Byleth could always return to. Now, she felt as though, for the first time, she was leaving a warm house that she’d lived her whole life in. She stood at a threshold, watching a cold, expansive world beyond. 

“Don’t make me go,” she whispered. “Father…” 

Raindrops slid down her cheeks, startling her. The rain had stopped minutes ago. What was happening to her?

“Professor…”

Claude and the others approached. Hilda watched with shimmery eyes and Dimitri gripped his lance with a hand red from the cold and from fading smears of blood. As Byleth looked at him, her vision blurred as the strange rain built in them. But, still, she saw that he was grinding his teeth.

Rhea released her sword and shield. She bit her hand, somehow creating two clean punctures, the kinds caused by snake bites. As she raised the hand to Jeralt’s lips, he gave one short shake of his head.

“Won’t work… this… time.” 

She nodded, defeated. 

“You are right, but I… my Crest… was meant to keep you safe forever. Jeralt, I know you don’t believe a word I say anymore. Not after Sitri… But I loved her and you. And I love your daughter. Even if I have regrets, I always did what I thought was best in the moment… the moment…”

Jeralt hardly reacted. 

“Do you… think… she will be there… when I close my eyes. Sitri.”

Rhea sobbed. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure she will be. Waiting.”

“Then. I…’ll ask her. What the truth is.”

 _The truth…_ Byleth raised her head and stared at her father’s face. Water dripped off her chin and, at last, she recognized it for what it was. Tears. Her eyes burned and her cheeks felt raw. Jeralt squeezed her hand.

“Kid… around my neck… beneath my shirt,” he said. Swallowing, she released her grip on him and reached down under his armor and past his tunic. She felt a chain. Byleth unclasped it and pulled it free. 

At the end of the chain swung a single ring. The violet gems set into the silver reminded Byleth of a columbine. The light turned them almost pink. 

“What is…” She couldn’t finish the thought. 

“Your mother’s…” he managed. “I made… to propose… then…” He gagged and some blood dripped from his mouth. “It’s yours. Don’t worry about me, Byleth. I… am just happy… that the only time…” He coughed but his eyes briefly lost their glassiness as he fought for the words. “That the only time I’ve ever seen you cry… it was for me… I’m so… happy.”

“Father!’

Byleth panicked when his eyes closed. She threw her body over his in a last effort she had no faith in, as if her weight would close his wound. But she’d seen the power of the black Agarthan weapons. There was no more hope. 

Her tears took on sound. She let out a long wail as she felt her father stop breathing beneath her. Claude, Dimitri, and Hilda watched in shock and, for a moment, Byleth felt some anger.

_If only I’d never met you… I could have been a mercenary forever. I’d still be traveling the world with him. Claude, why did you run to our camp that night? Why? If only you hadn’t. If only I hadn’t saved Edelgard. If only. If only._

Once, Rhea had described time to Byleth as a gently flowing stream or a single flapping butterfly. Gentle and soundless, yet changing the course of the world. But now, none of that seemed so quiet or subtle. Byleth saw a million flapping butterflies in her head and they sounded like thunder. A million things could have been different. 

She hung her head.

“Teach.” Claude put a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t say anything else, but Byleth knew he was waiting for her to speak and to tell him what she wanted, what could make this better. The gesture was so naive for Claude, but it brought Byleth some joy that Claude could set aside some of his more selfish, calculating tendencies for her. Perhaps he was already plotting how to use Jeralt’s death to win this fight, but on the outside he seemed only concerned. 

“We’ll destroy them,” said Dimitri, his voice lower than Byleth had ever heard it. “I too believe that the captain will get to see his wife now. But men like Thales… they will only see those they hurt. They will be at their victims’ mercy. Let us arrange that meeting.”

“Dimitri…” said Hilda. But she sounded too weak to say any more. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“His death won’t be for naught.” Rhea stood. “We have nearly won this. Their one of their commanders has fled. Now all that stands is Edelgard...”

“She retreated,” said Dimitri. He gave Claude a severe, pointed look. “Not the best case scenario, but she was seriously wounded.”

“And Claude killed one of their generals,” said Hilda. “So we should be able to win, right? At least, we can hold onto Garreg Mach for now? Right?”

“Edelgard seemed convinced we’d lose,” said Claude. “Something is wrong here. They’ve got a trump card we don’t know about.”

Byleth touched her father’s cold face and felt more emotionless than ever. Her tears were drying and she saw herself, in the back of her mind, like nothing more than a relic. A weapon. Even if the Imperial army had their own secret weapon… that did not matter. She was numb enough to blast through it with no concern for her own life. A part of her wanted to join Jeralt. 

She undid her cloak and placed it over her father. The morning wind brushed her bare arms.

“Teach, I don’t like your expression,” Claude said quietly. “Whatever it is, you’ve got to…”

A boom made the grounds shake. Hilda shrieked as a wall behind the dorms burst into bits and chunks of stone pounded into the greenhouse, blowing holes in the top. The sound of soldiers from the village increased until it was deafening. The roar of a monster filled the air. 

“What on earth…” said Rhea. 

“My Lord!”

They group turned to see Dedue, toting a wounded Cyril with him, approaching them. His eyes were wide and several fresh slashes marred his face. 

“Dedue! Tell me, what’s happened? Why all the new noise?” Dimitri pursed his lips.

“A new wave. The Empire had reinforcements.” 

“How many?” demanded Claude. 

“As many as their first wave,” said Cyril. He slid off Dedue’s shoulder and onto his knees. “I’m sorry, Lady Rhea. I wanted to… to keep going… But we’re getting swarmed.” He touched his head. Blood poured from Cyril’s hairline and dripped down to his jaw. “Me and Shamir saw Sylvain’s brother and we tried to snipe him off but he… did something weird with that lance. Catherine fell back to take Shamir to safety. I… I made Dedue promise to take me here.”

“Miklan did this to you?!” Rhea’s fury returned. Byleth watched her eyes take on a snakelike appearance once more. Their green seemed venomous. 

“So Catherine and Shamir are out of commission,” said Claude. He rubbed his chin and bounced his knee. “Who else? Who is left?”

“Our ballistae are down,” said Dedue. “Hubert made it to where Ashe and Leonie were and wounded them both. I had them retreat. Seteth and Flayn are keeping Hubert back for now. But I am not sure how long that will last. The enemy has more of those Crest stone monsters charging in. I saw Ingrid on the way here. She’s worried about Sylvain and went to find him. She intends to retreat once she has him.”

Another blast shook Garreg Mach. Rubble rained from atop the dormitories. 

Rhea bit a nail before sighing. 

“You are right.” Her anger melted. “We must abandon Garreg Mach. These buildings are not worth your lives. Dimitri and Claude, you two especially must live. As of now, you are what keeps Faerghus and Leicester in our control. If you fall, Edelgard will seize your territories. We must prevent that at all costs. So, I want the two of you to start evacuating everyone. The younger students especially. Take them away from here.”

With a smile, she took Cyril from Dedue and pressed her fingers to his head. A sacred light warmed his face. Then she placed him in Dimitri’s arms. The two of them frowned, but Rhea laughed gently at their shock. 

“Dimitri, your Kingdom is special to the Church. We will set up our new base in Fhirdiad. Protect my people until I can meet with you. I will remain here and keep off the reinforcements until you evacuate every last soul.”

Cyril began to protest, but Rhea silenced him with one motherly glare.

Byleth rolled her shoulders and rubbed her eyes. She couldn’t get her mind off of her father’s body, laying shrouded in her cloak. A piece of her wanted to flee with Claude to Leicester. Meeting him had been what changed the tide and led her here. So she was ready to ensure that she never lost the Deer. However…

“I will stay and help,” she said. “If am captured, perhaps I will at least be allowed to see my father buried. If I am killed, then maybe I can be buried with him.”

“Child, you cannot!” Rhea took up her flamberge and shield. “You are just as important as the house leaders! Our people have high hopes for you! And if the enemy catches you then your heart...” 

Her face suddenly appeared childlike, pleading. Byleth felt as though Rhea was talking to her, but also to somebody else. 

_She’s worried about what will happen to Sothis…_ Byleth realized. But that thought didn’t bother her; it reinforced her decision. Rhea thought she was special for a reason. She knew of a past Byleth had no idea about. Clenching her jaw, Byleth retrieved The Sword of the Creator. 

“I’m staying,” Byleth insisted. “But, Lady Rhea, I swear to you… I will fight with all my strength and then go with you to Fhirdiad. So long as you reveal my past there.”

Rhea reached forward and touched Byleth’s cheek. 

“You are like so many that I love. Your mother, Jeralt, the Goddess… parts of them are all within you. So I cannot help but… want to shield you from all evil. But you are a warrior. So I will hold you to your vow. Stay and live. And take this as a token of my feelings that you ignore.” 

With a small chuckle, Rhea passed her shield to Byleth. 

Claude nodded. “Well then. That’s a tantalizing promise you’ve made, Lady Rhea. Just know that I intend to be there when all this is revealed. As soon as I lock down the Alliance, I will make plans to meet with you all.”

Dimitri shifted the wounded Cyril a bit in his arms. “Then it is decided. The four of us will meet at my castle. And, when all is revealed, we will make plans to end this war. We will give Edelgard, Miklan, and all those Agarthan cretins what they deserve.” He smirked. “Professor, I’m sure you are just as eager for vengeance as I am.”

_Am I…?_

Byleth took a final look at her father’s form, hidden beneath a layer of dark fabric. In that moment, she understood Rhea and Dimitri. Could she really protect her loved ones if… she just dealt out punishments so atrocious that no one dare hurt her family again? Could she protect Claude that way? Would his enemies refuse to touch him if they thought they would be offending an all-powerful goddess or avenging demon? Living her life so ruthlessly was tempting but... She wondered if her genuineness would get lost to time. Would the Fodlan people remember how she had grieved, what she had lost? Or would they only see the beast of now? 

“Hurry,” said Byleth at last, falling back to her old, stoic ways.

Dimitri, Claude, Hilda, and Dedue started back towards the line. But, just before vanishing from view, Claude turned and offered a smile. That smile pierced a thorn of guilt into Byleth, and she hoped that that pang was not an omen. 

When they’d left, Rhea led Byleth up to the wall. They watched their forces begin to scatter and the Imperial monsters bound forward. Trebuchets hurled magic and boulders at the once-sturdy monastery. The Archbishop let her flamberge fall onto the ground near Byleth.

“Fight hard, Child,” she said. “Remember that that shield is an extension of me. Now, I will show you your heritage. This is the true power of the Church of Seiros.” 

Rhea climbed up on the edge of the wall. Her body began to shift like fractured light, so hot that Byleth had to briefly turn away. A draconic roar laced with a female undertone imbued the air. When Byleth faced Rhea once more, the woman was falling and changing as she did. Her body grew in size, and opal scales formed on muscle. Horns curled out from her skull and a pair of bat-like wings caught the air. 

Shrieks sounded off from below as this new, beastly Rhea slammed into one of the Imperial monsters, knocking it off balance. She roared and grabbed a clawful of red-clad soldiers and tossed them. When they landed, Byleth could almost hear their spines snap from her place on the wall. She nodded and hurried down the stairs. 

The Empire’s warriors were flooding into Garreg Mach. Still, Byleth held on to her vow. As long as she stayed alive, the truth would be in her grasp. She knew that would make her father proud. 

A few soldiers charged at Byleth from the left and she knocked them aside with Rhea’s shield, feeling a satisfying crack as she did so. Using The Sword of the Creator, she cut through another group of enemies and bounded towards where Rhea was. Every kill she made felt sickeningly good, like she was merely cleaning, wiping up dirt. She didn’t relish in anyone’s pain, but she had a goal. Each step forward invigorated her. 

Once she arrived at the place where Rhea exchanged blows with beasts, something caught Byleth’s eye. Up, on a hill, stood a figure dressed all in black.

Thales was still here. 

Byleth started for him. 

_Ruptured Sky_ , she thought. _I’ll break through all his magic. Even if it takes everything I have left._

Her Crest activated and The Sword of the Creator warmed up in her hand. Deep within her chest, a heat like she’d swallowed a coal built up and flowed through her veins. She swung her sword like a whip. 

_WHAM!_

A beast blindsided Byleth. Her breath fled her lungs as she was knocked to the wet grass. Her sword swung wildly and Ruptured Sky went off as an explosion, tossing the beast like a puppet and shredding through its skin and mask. The creature fell as a heap of ruined flesh, but Byleth didn’t stop moving. She flung herself to the side as Thales crashed down, accompanied by his mages. 

“I will claim your filthy heart, Goddess Avatar!” he bellowed. “I will crush your ribs and rip it out! Then you can join your father in eternal darkness!”

Byleth screamed and went for his side, an area that was surely still weak from Jeralt’s strike. One of his attendants hurled a burst of flame and she hit it aside with Rhea’s shield as it hummed with energy. Her chest felt ready to split open. An area right where her heart was shone white. A volley of flames from Thales’ minions hurled for her and she batted them away one after another. Although she was outnumbered, Byleth had never felt more determined. She met the strikes using instinct alone. 

_Hit. Roll. Slice. Kick._

Her mind went blank as her body reacted to motion and sound. 

“Byleth!!”

A booming cry from Rhea had Byleth spinning just in time to meet a winged beast that had broken past the dragoness’ guard. The bird caught Byleth with its talons, dragging her up. She stabbed upwards into its chest, feeling its black blood spill onto her fists. The creature squawked and fell. Byleth ready herself for the landing only for a disk of magic to hit her straight on. She flew from the monster’s clutches and towards a fissure that had opened up at the edge of the battle field, by the river. 

Digging her heels into the dirt, Byleth tried desperately to slow herself. She watched Rhea wail in pain as several monsters, too many for even a dragon, fell upon her. 

A final blast from a grinning Thales hurled into Byleth. 

Her feet met empty air.

“NO!!!” she heard Rhea scream.

Then Byleth was falling, darkness wrapping itself around her like the coat she’d shrouded her father with. Her body, no longer within her control, plummeted into the fissure. She watched the pink sliver of sky above her grow smaller and smaller. Her brain offered a dozen apologies to a dozen people before the blackness ate her alive. 

*****

Sylvain ran through the torn halls of the Officer’s Academy, feeling a snow of plaster upon him as another pound from a trebuchet rocked the building. He needed to fight through the Imperial soldiers, and get outside, before this wing collapsed entirely.

He spun his lance, catching a man in the chin with his hilt. The soldier crumpled and Sylvain hurried on. Though he felt heavier, he couldn’t help but take some pride in his prowess. This, after all, was his first battle Crestless.

Finally he made it outside and noticed, with some surprise, how few soldiers were in this particular courtyard. A few leftover scraps of clothing, armor, and weapons indicated that combatants had been here. But now that the struggle had moved to other yards... the area was oddly quiet, until the sound of boots on stone made Sylvain whirl around. 

There, beneath an awning stood Miklan. His bronze armor was scuffed here and there. Brown blood crusted his gloves. But, beyond that, he looked as energized and healthy as ever. Sylvain flipped his lance to a forward position and held it firmly, trying to believe he was facing just any old enemy. Somebody who didn’t matter. 

Miklan didn’t ready his weapon right away; the Lance of Ruin stood dormantly in his right hand. He only watched Sylvain with an expression that looked... stern. Sylvain couldn’t help but curl his lip when he noticed. What right did his brother have to be stern with him? 

“Draw your weapon,” Sylvain said at last. “I don’t want to take any advantages.” His frown deepened. “I think it’s about time that one of us died.” 

“No. There’s no need for that. Let’s just—“

“Stop!” Sylvain gripped his lance even tighter. He felt as though he should say something else, elaborate, but he had nothing else to say. He’d just wanted his brother to quit speaking. He was just tired... so tired. 

Miklan sighed but still did not ready his weapon. He swallowed and then said,

“Sylvain, I’m sorry. For everything.”

Those words made Sylvain take a step back, as though he’d been sucker punched. He’d been ready for Miklan to say a lot of things; by this point, Sylvain could predict his brother’s whole weaponry of excuses. But he hadn’t expected an apology— definitely not a sincere one. For a moment, all Sylvain could do was stand there and pity his younger self who would have held such an apology so dearly. Had he been a child, this moment would have been worth his birthday and every holiday for the rest of his life. 

But now Sylvain scoffed.

“What do you want?” 

Miklan frowned, but considered the question. 

“Leave Faerghus,” he said at last. “Come to the Empire.” 

Sylvain felt his grip on his lance loosen, but not because he was tempted. He was just confused and so hurt that this was happening now, when things had gone way too far. Sylvain thought of Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri. The notion of betraying them was absurd. Why would he give up people who’d always been at his side, even when he messed up? Why would he leave friends who stayed with him because they genuinely loved him? Why would he leave them for someone who’d made him work so hard for even a splinter of kindness? This was insanity. Still, Sylvain straightened and said, 

“If you were really ‘sorry,’ you’d prove it. And you’d stop asking me to do things. You’d leave the Empire and try to atone for everything you’ve done. But I know you’d never do that. You never do things that don’t benefit you.” 

Miklan shook his head. “This is different. This is a war. Nothing I’m doing is criminal.” 

“So you just want to forget the past now?” Sylvain rolled his eyes, too bewildered at his brother’s audacity to even show his rage. “Well, I won’t. I’m sick of being the one who always has to make concessions. And I never get anything out of it. Nothing that lasts, anyway.” He felt a cold smile on his lips. “And that’s exactly how it would turn out even if I did agree to your request because you still don’t give a damn about me. Say I did this and in a few months from now things went back to normal— I got my Crest back and you lost yours. You’d just hate me all over again.”

Miklan, again, carefully considered his next words. He hung his head briefly as he thought and then locked eyes with Sylvain. 

“No. I wouldn’t care. If you really gave up on everything in Faerghus, then I wouldn’t care about Crests anymore. That’s the whole point of this war! After the emperor restructures things, Crests won’t matter. Don’t you want that too?”

“I do,” agreed Sylvain. He was surprised at how openly and firmly he was able to admit that. “But I’m not willing to walk across innocent people’s corpses. I’m not going to help Edelgard steal land and end cultures. And I’m not going to work with people like you who think that that’s okay. You may believe that you’ve finally turned your life around. But you haven’t. Edelgard can dress everything she’s doing up all nicely, but it’s still wrong. This is senseless slaughter.” 

At last, Miklan allowed the Lance of Ruin to alight. Something Sylvain had said hit a raw nerve. Now, all traces of softness faded from Miklan’s expression and he pointed the relic at his brother.

“Fine. Then your options left are to surrender or die. I’m not letting you leave. So choose wisely. Please.” 

Sylvain fell into his most solid fighting stance. 

“I’m going to win! You don’t get to dictate my life anymore!” 

Miklan jabbed forward and a burst of energy knocked Sylvain off his feet. The ground around them shook and pebbles danced across the courtyard. With all his resolve, Sylvain used his own lance to bring himself to an upright position. He dashed for the nearest pillar and ducked behind it.

_Was that... Ruined Sky?_

Sylvain knew all about the combat art, but seeing it in action frightened him. The gap between his abilities and Miklan’s seemed larger than he first thought. He pinched his hand.

_No. Don’t think that way. You can beat him._

Taking a deep breath, Sylvain let loose a blast of flame into the courtyard. He ran out from behind the pillar, trying to find a gap in the fire where he could attack Miklan from. But his brother broke right through the flames, brushing them aside with his charged lance. He swung the Lance of Ruin like a bat and caught Sylvain in the head with the flat end. Falling to his back, Sylvain yelped and brought up his own lance with both hands. Miklan jumped onto him pressing with the Lance of Ruin’s shaft. The two of them fought forward like opposing magnets, Sylvain trying to shove Miklan off of him and Miklan pushing Sylvain farther into the ground. 

The Crest of Gautier blazed before Miklan, and Sylvain’s arms weakened beneath the Crest and his brother’s heavy weight. Miklan pressed him until Sylvain felt freezing mud seep into his uniform and hair. He was sinking into the wet soil and now his lance shaft was at his chest. Still Miklan forced his weight down. 

With horror, Sylvain realized that he couldn't breathe.

His vision darkened.

In a desperate final effort, Sylvain used another spell. He cried out and cast Ragnarok which engulfed him and Miklan. With a grunt, Miklan finally relented and fell back to avoid the fire. For a moment, they both faced each other, burned and exhausted. 

“Sylvain!”

A shadow crossed over the lawn and Ingrid appeared overhead, mounted on a pegasus. Sylvain felt a lump form in his stomach when he saw her expression, one of panic. And hopelessness. 

“We’ve got to go now!” she shouted. “There’s another wave of Imperial troops! We can’t take them! We need to abandon Garreg Mach!” 

Then her pegasus swooped, and she reached out a hand to Sylvain. Taking one last look at his brother, one he hoped would haunt Miklan, Sylvain started to run for Ingrid. Her words weighed his heart. Garreg Mach... abandoned. Or worse— turned over to the enemy. Sylvain could hardly take the thought of that. 

But, when Ingrid was still too high up to reach, another burst of wind and earth— another Ruined Sky— slammed into her steed. The energy forced the pegasus to rear up and, in doing so, it bucked Ingrid off and she plummeted.

“INGRID!!”

She hit the earth and Sylvain heard the sharp, unnatural twack of something breaking. His friend lay still.

_That noise... not her neck... please, please, please...._

Sylvain could hear his heart in his skull, his pulse within his ears, as he tried to reach her. But he felt a sudden pull on the back of his collar. Miklan grabbed one of Sylvain’s arms and bent it behind his back, then took the other and did the same. He began to drag Sylvain. Away from Ingrid. 

“STOP! GET. OFF! Let me help her, you bastard!” 

With an adrenaline-fueled yank, Sylvain freed one of his arms and started to turn to push Miklan back only for his brother to punch him directly in the side of his jaw. Sylvain thought he felt his brain roll in his skull. White spots dappled his vision as he slumped forward. Miklan laid him on the wet grass. 

“It’s over,” he growled. “Our second wave of soldiers are here. You’re finished.”

Sylvain tried to curse, but his head was spinning and his jaw wouldn’t move properly.

“What the,” came the sound of a new voice, “hell are you doing?”

_Felix._

Miklan faced Felix who’d crossed under the awning. Even with his blurry eyesight, Sylvain could see his friend glance at him and Ingrid. Then Felix directed his attention back to Miklan and he…

He smiled. 

It was not a pleasant smile, nor a maniacal one. Felix, flicking his sword back and forth, approached Miklan as if he’d practiced for this encounter.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said. Sylvain could hear his smile even in his voice; he was pleased. Eager. “I’m going to butcher you right now. And finally end all of this.”

“You?” Miklan growled. “The child who always clung to Glenn or Sylvain or the prince?“

Felix ignored the taunt and tilted his sword forward. 

Miklan readied his lance. 

And then they collided. Felix’s sword clashed with the Lance of Ruin and he stumbled back. Miklan jabbed at Felix’s vitals only to miss when Felix slammed his sword down onto the lance. He reared and kicked Miklan in the chest, forcing him back.

“You better pray both of them are all right,” Felix said. Again, his eyes flit to Sylvain and Ingrid. “You better beg the goddess or whoever the hell will listen that they are. Because, if they aren’t, I’ll do more than kill you. I’ll shave you down to NOTHING!” 

Felix’s Major Crest of Fraldarius alit. Miklan raised his lance again, but Felix threw him back with another powerful swing, fortified by his Crest’s energy. Sylvain could only see Miklan’s back, but he sensed his brother’s frustration and saw it in the way his shoulders shook. Miklan roared and the Crest of Gautier glimmered before him. 

Sylvain tried to rise. He dug his fingers into the wet soil and felt mud beneath his nails. But, as he pushed himself upwards, his heart felt as though it knotted itself and shriveled into a hard plum pit. His world was evaporating around him. Garreg Mach was crumbling. Ingrid lay feet away, unmoving. Felix exchanged blows with Miklan, each of out to draw blood.

“You understand, Sylvain,” yelled Miklan as he pushed Felix back, “that if I kill this bastard, it’s all your fault. You decided to stay with these pathetic, dragon-worshiping cockroaches! You’re just as disgusting as Mother and Father!” 

“Don’t talk to him!” Felix shouted back. “Let me tell you the truth! I don’t give a _damn_ about the Seiros faith or the Archbishop’s ideals. I fight because I hate _you_! And the scum like you! Rhea massacred your men… But, I’m not happy for her or the Church. I’m just happy your cronies all died!!”

Miklan bellowed in rage. 

“I’ll tear you apart!”

The Imperial General attempted another Ruined Sky, but Felix went for Miklan’s legs, avoiding the attack. Felix toppled Miklan who fell back and hit his head hard on the side of a pillar. Miklan’s weapon slipped from his hands, but Felix didn’t let up. Major Crest flashing, he slashed, splitting bronze armor and drawing blood. 

“We…” 

Relief flooded through Sylvain when he heard Ingrid’s voice. He pulled himself to his knees, fighting a pounding headache. Behind him Ingrid had risen. Her arm swung limply, shoulder dislocated, but Sylvain was thrilled to see that it was only a limb that had been hurt. Not her spine or neck. 

“We need to retreat,” she said weakly. “Hurry. He’s… keeping us here.” 

_She’s right,_ Sylvain realized. _Miklan is keeping things slow. He doesn’t have to win. If he stalls us for long enough..._

“Felix!” he yelled. “We’ve got to go! The reinforcements! We’ll just be overwhelmed!”

The warning made Miklan snarl. He tried to knock Felix aside, only to miss. Felix turned heel and went for Sylvain, grabbing him and tossing him over his shoulder.

“Here, girl!” Ingrid whistled to the pegasus. The animal allowed her to mount, but seemed wary of Felix and Sylvain. During riding lessons, Sylvain had found the pegasai’s dislike of males funny. He and Caspar had even gone to tease them a few times, trying to catch them unaware and mount them. Their games had earned them a few trips to the infirmary which hadn’t made Ingrid happy. _Stick to wyverns_ , she’d said. 

But now the pegasus’ distaste made him want to scream.

“Please!” Ingrid begged it. “Just this once. Now!”

Finally the steed yielded and let Felix hop on behind Ingrid. Sylvain, wedged between them, winced as he accidentally hit his chin on Ingrid’s shoulder. She let out her own tiny, pained gasp. The pegasus took to the sky with difficulty, burdened with more riders than it was used to. Suddenly the animal flapped forward as a blur shot behind it, narrowly missing Felix.

Miklan had pitched his lance. The weapon clattered harmlessly onto the stone as the horse rose. Sylvain watched his brother from the sky. Hatred emanated from Miklan but, Sylvain wasn’t sure of the source of this loathing. In the past, Miklan had hated Sylvain because of his Crest. Now… Sylvain wasn’t sure what it was causing Miklan to make such an evil frown. And he didn’t care if he never found out.

He knew that this would be the last time he saw Miklan for many moons, perhaps years. That knowledge eased him, and he was pleased that it did. He hoped that his desire for a brother, one who acted like Glenn, would fade with time. Miklan’s apology complicated things, but… Sylvain was confident that this cycle of envy and hatred and false hope had really ended this time. 


	39. Beyond the Night (END)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are!!
> 
> I had such a big burst of inspiration over break and I am glad I got to finish everything before school starts back up and I get so busy.

Miklan walked through an abandoned Garreg Mach. Around him, stood buildings sagging under the weight of shrapnel and rubble. Mud, chunks of rock, and even the carcass of a demonic beast had turned the pond a foul brown-green color. A few fish lay dead, floating across the polluted surface. 

The Imperial Army had secured this place two days ago. Now was the time to take care of obtaining valuables and transporting captives. The Church had managed to evacuate most survivors, but a few stragglers— priests and nuns who could not bear to leave the monastery behind— had been bound and sent to Enbarr. Now, all that remained were corpses and silence.

According to Hubert, Edelgard had been seriously wounded. Linhardt had used all his magic tending to her in the infirmary. _I’ve never seen her so battered_ , he’d said. _I guess even someone as incredible as her has limits_ . _As soon as I concoct an antidote for whatever was on that arrow, she’ll recover._

Clenching his fist, Miklan made a small promise to himself to take care of Claude and Dimitri whenever he saw them next. They’d pay for how they’d left the emperor. 

“Miklan.”

He turned, surprised to hear the voice of Edelgard herself. She carefully walked down a staircase, avoiding cracks in the stone. She no longer wore her academy uniform but, instead, a long, strawberry jam colored dress. Her pale skin was looking dull and deep green-violet circles underset her eyes. Blue bruises spotted her face. 

“Should you be walking around already?” he murmured. 

“I need to take a look around. There’s so much work to be done. I’m well enough to do just a little surveying.”

“My lady!”

Ladislava and Hubert hurried down the staircase, sending a small cascade of pebbles down the steps before them. Like Edelgard, they’d changed out of the clothes they’d fought in. Ladislava had exchanged her armor for some trousers and a loose tunic. Hubert wore a fresh black suit. 

“You should return to the infirmary,” said Hubert. “Take some more elixir. Let Lindhart do another examination.”

Edelgard shook her head. “He’s exerted himself enough, and the other healers need to attend to those in much more critical condition than I. Believe me, I intend to push you all to your limitations before this war is over. But let us lick our wounds for now.” 

Something caught her eye and she peered past Miklan, frowning. He turned and saw a large black shape lying on the ground near the greenhouse. At first, he could not make sense of what he was looking at. Then it occurred to him.

“A corpse,” he said. “There are many still around here.”

“I understand,” said Edelgard. “But… that fabric…”

With a slow few steps, she approached the body. Miklan shared glances with Ladislava and Hubert as they followed behind. When they reached the shape, Miklan saw that the black cloth atop the corpse was a long cloak with a white design embroidered onto the back. A pair of brown boots stuck out from beneath the cloak.

“This is Professor Byleth’s.” Edelgard’s eyes lost a little of their glow. Miklan wished he could read minds and listen to the thoughts drawing her so far into herself. 

“I was going to tell you when you’d rested more,” said Hubert at last. “But Thales informed me that the professor has likely died. She fell into the ravine near the village. I sent soldiers to search for a body and nothing was found… but that is probably because the river current carried her off. I cannot imagine anyone surviving a thousand foot drop.”

Edelgard hung her head. “It is certainly more reasonable to assume she’s dead but… with that woman I never know.” She turned to face them, her eyes regaining their spark. Her fists tightened. “And their other leaders? Rhea. Dimitri. Claude. What became of them?”

“We have the Archbishop!” Ladislava straightened with pride as she delivered the news. “Thales wanted to take her, but Hubert and I fought that. We knew you would want to decide. She’s being held in her audience chamber. Every precaution has been taken to keep her there.”

Miklan imagined that woman, alone and panicked. The thought invigorated him; he was thrilled that she hadn't been killed yet. After what she'd done to his men... he wanted her suffering to last. Perhaps he'd ready some taunts and pay her a visit later. Being on the right side of the prison bars would feel so sweet. 

“Excellent.” Edelgard hit her fist lightly into her open palm. “Very good. That is a major victory for us. And the others?”

“Claude and Dimitri escaped,” Hubert told her. “They led much of the evacuation and then seemingly vanished. However, there are very few places they could have gone. The only thing they can do is begin to build up armies from their capitals.”

“And if that is the case…” Ladislava grinned. “Then we will capture the prince soon enough. According to Lady Cornelia, Fhirdiad has been secured. If he returns, he will just walk into an ambush.”

Edelgard released a breath. “Good. And Claude is not quite in full control of the Alliance yet. From what I hear, Archduke Oswald is not in good health. An official change in power is coming. If we can weaken the Alliance and defeat Claude before then, we’ve all but won.” 

She went back to silently calculating, deep inside her own head. Miklan could tell that she was excited but also tentative about that very excitement. Things were looking up for them. But would it last? Was it too early to relax? 

_It’s still uncertain_ , he couldn’t help but think. Of course, Dimitri and Claude were vital pieces in all of this. But they weren’t everything. Miklan knew his mother and Rodrigue would hang on as long until the cruel end. 

_Fine,_ Miklan mused. _If they want to go until their territories are ash, that’s on them._

In fact, he would prefer that. Felix’s insults still itched beneath his skin. Miklan couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said:

 _“_ _I’m just happy your cronies all died!”_

Miklan wanted so badly to kill Felix for that, to make him retract every venomous remark and then choke on his own blood. And he felt the same about Ingrid and all those other Blue Lions who still looked down on him like he was dirt. He wanted to wipe them out, make them vanish, and truly start over as more than a brigand. He’d raze the Margraviate down to its soil just to achieve that. If his mother refused to surrender then perhaps he would be allowed to completely destroy every scrap of the Margraviate. 

“Now…” whispered Edelard, drawing Miklan’s attention. “To see about… this.”

She gripped the sleeve of Byleth’s cloak and hesitated. Then her jaw set, as if she were chiding herself and she tugged.

The cloak flew back and revealed the body of a middle aged man.

Miklan had never seen the man before but he had a decent sense about him. His scruffy blonde hair and beard indicated that he wasn’t noble; his broad shoulders and muscular build hinted that he was a strong soldier. But who was he?

“The captain,” breathed Edelgard. 

“Of the Knights of Seiros?” Miklan frowned. “Then good riddance.”

Hubert locked eyes with Miklan and gave a short, stern shake of his head.

“I respected him,” Edelgard said, gently folding the cloak over her arm. “As much as I _can_ respect a servant of the Church. And he was Professor Byleth’s father. He taught her how to fight, and he even had a title of his own. Together, they were the Blade Breaker and Ashen Demon.”

“Hold on!” Ladislava’s eyes widened. “ _This_ is Jeralt Eisner the Blade Breaker?!” Her shoulders sank. “It’s a shame he sided with the Archbishop. He seemed like a good man otherwise. From what I’ve heard, he was like folklore among commoners. He would visit small villages to fix their problems for little more than a few rounds of drinks. When nobles got wind of his presence, he took jobs with them but… I’ve heard he didn’t work for anyone long.” She turned to Miklan and frowned. “Actually, I’m surprised your father never called upon him. Bandit gangs were his specialty.” 

Her comment left Miklan feeling a bit bitter. He shrugged.

“My father was probably too ashamed of me to bring outsiders into the situation. He never sent anyone but his own men after me.” 

Edelgard rested the cloak back over Jeralt’s body.

“I think I understand why the professor didn’t evacuate now…” the emperor said. “It was because of him.”

Hubert sighed. “Yes. It appears we made things personal.” 

“Please bury him in the cemetery behind the Knight’s Hall.” Edelgard lowered her head for a moment. “Actually, just transport his body there for now. I will meet with you later to show you where. For now, I will take a look at the dormitories. I want to see if anything of use was left behind. I’m going to check the professor and Claude’s rooms. Those two had their fair of secrets.” She turned to Miklan. “How about you accompany me?” 

“Er. Yeah. Of course.” Miklan didn’t mind at all, but Edelgard looked as though she wished to speak with him on some matter, and he had no clue what that could be.

  
  


“Nothing. Unfortunately. He cleaned out this place before the battle.” Edelgard shook her head as she took one last gaze at Claude’s bedroom. A gold blanket had been left on the floor and several library books on mundane subjects— botany, mathematics, and astronomy— were littered across the bed. There were even several pairs of large pliers and a strange pot of an earthy incense in the corner. But nothing worthwhile remained.

“I visited him here once,” Edelgard muttered. “I’d overheard a rumor that he’d cheat during a mock battle and wanted to confront him. This place had been covered with much more paperwork and books then. This is disappointing.” 

Miklan picked up the incense pot and a pair of pliers, examining them.

“He had a habit of trying to break into places where he was neither wanted nor allowed,” said Edelgard with a sigh, staring at the pliers. Miklan placed the items on the desk and said,

“Why did you want me to come up here?” 

“Ah.” She crossed her arms. “I was wondering if you’d want to check Sylvain’s room. Maybe you’ll find something interesting in there, family heirlooms or letters. Hopefully, suggesting this isn’t overstepping.”

Miklan rubbed his chin. He was almost as angry with his brother as he was with Felix. For much of their childhood, Sylvain had reached out to Miklan and Miklan had wanted nothing to do with him. He’d wanted him to stay away. To leave. To get out of his life forever. He’d hurt Sylvain, insulted him, and frightened him, and still that stupid child had continued to act like like they were brothers. Like things would just get better. And now, when Miklan had finally promised that they would, Sylvain had given him the most disgusted glare and run off, like a coward, with his friends.

_Stop acting like you’re better than me… Stop acting like Felix and Ingrid and Dimitri and whoever the fuck else are all better than me!_

None of this was his own fault— at least, Miklan didn’t think so anymore. Maybe he wouldn’t have acted out if things had been different, if the Empire had had control over Fodlan years ago. It wasn’t fair. If this war had happened long ago, then maybe Miklan’s parents would both still be alive and well and care about him. Maybe he’d have had a good relationship with Sylvain instead of the constant fights and the constant comparisons to Glenn and the constant jealousy. 

Miklan refused to take the blame. He’d been asked to do that his whole life. Until he’d met Edelgard. So, he believed that she was right about everything. But Sylvain hadn’t been convinced even by her. 

_“You may believe that you’ve finally turned your life around. But you haven’t. Edelgard can dress everything she’s doing up all nicely, but it’s still wrong. This is senseless slaughter.”_

Those words had really irritated Miklan. 

_Filthy lies_ , he thought. _From a brainwashed moron._

“Miklan…” Edelard frown and tilted her head, waiting for him to speak. He thought back over her question before nodding. 

“Fine,” he said. “That’s a good idea. I want to see if my parents sent him anything about House Gautier that could be useful to us.”

And so she led him to the room before excusing herself, claiming that she wanted to reconvene with Hubert and ensure that Jeralt was properly laid to rest. Miklan pushed open the door and it led him to a clean little room.

A few daffodils sat wilting in a vase of water. Miklan read the tag attached which said: 

_Sylvain, congratulations on your high Reason exam scores. Hanneman and I are proud of you. — Professor Byleth_

A small box of various items rested by the vase and Miklan rummage through them to find nothing more than a tube of lipstick, a few battered love letters, and a small book about the history of Sreng. Rolling his eyes, Miklan checked the bookshelf. All he found there were more history books and several black magic tomes, particularly about fire-related spells. Here and there, he would select a book and a love letter, set as a bookmark, would slip out. He dropped a history textbook and kicked it across the floor. It flew with a thud into a waste bin under the desk. The basket teetered then toppled. Balls of wadded-up paper fell out.

Miklan picked up one and uncrumpled it. 

_Dear Sylvain,_

_I was pleased to hear from you. Your mother tends to get nervous when you go so long without writing so please stay consistent._

_To me, it sounds like sending you to Garreg Mach was an excellent choice. All your letters have been so positive about your experience. Someday, I would like to meet your professor. How are Felix, Ingrid, and Prince Dimitri faring? Lord Fraldarius tells me that Felix has an even greater problem writing home than you do. If you could let me know how he is, I can pass word to his father and mother._

_Now, as for your last question. I do not know where or how Miklan is. He has been quiet lately and not causing trouble, thank the goddess. That is good enough for me. Try not to worry. He is not welcome back at the estate so you do not have to think about him anymore._

_I wish you the best of luck in your training and in your studies. Please remember— write frequently!_

_sincerely,_

_Your father_

For a moment, Miklan just stared at the note. The parchment, the words… they felt surreal to him. This was a letter written by a man who was now dead, a man Miklan had killed. But the fact that his name had come up in the letter also filled him with a strange emotion he couldn’t pinpoint. His father’s dismissiveness of him prevented him from feeling guilty. He felt no compassion. However, Miklan couldn’t help but feel strangely sad to see that he’d been asked about him, and that the answer had treated him like such an inconvenience. 

So much time had passed from the day this letter was dated. Miklan had know idea what the tone of his brother’s supposed question had been. Concern? Fear? Either way, things had changed. Miklan could tell that Sylvain no longer cared where he was or what he was doing. For Sylvain, things were irreparable. He’d gone from having conflicted feelings on his brother, hatred and familial loyalty all painfully blended… to just apathy and annoyance. Miklan had seen that on Sylvain’s face in Shambhala and again as he retreated from the monastery. 

Crumbling up the letter again, Miklan glanced out the window. He was still so stuck in the past. He knew he’d think about his brother and mother for years to come. He’d wonder what they were doing and if they still ever thought about him, even in distaste. Miklan had never felt this way before when he’d had Buxton, Philip, and the rest of his men with him. But, now, he felt as though he’d lost parents and a sibling he’d deserved. Miklan believed in Edelgard’s ideals and he had faith in her when she said that, without the Church and their destructive beliefs, his family would have loved him. 

Soon, the Imperial Army would take Faerghus. Miklan still wanted to be present for the Prince’s inevitable execution. Then, he would help the Empire claim his homeland forever.

  
  


*****

“Still no word from Dimitri?”

Sylvain stepped outside to where the other Lions were, sitting in the Gautier bluebell garden. They’d all arrived back at the estate nearly a week ago. Lady Gautier had been surprised, and glad, to see her son again so soon. But she was smart enough to know that his presence meant bad news. He’d explained everything that had happened in the weeks he’d been gone. He’d described the betrayal of the emperor and how Miklan had defected to Adrestia. Then he’d detailed their defeat. The only thing he’d kept silent on was his final conversation with Miklan and his brother’s apology which rang strangely genuine in places and just as self centered as usual in others. Sylvain wasn’t sure how his mother would react to hearing about that; he only knew that her response would not be positive. She would either retreat to her room, perhaps to once again think of all the letters and pressed flowers— every reminder of Miklan she had— that she’d burned. Or she would become as enraged as Sylvain had. She’d scream about Miklan’s insolence, how he couldn’t expect words, without action, to fix everything he’d utterly smashed into pieces. He’d murdered her husband, handed her and Sylvain over to monsters, and nearly ruined the village. Crimes like that could not be walked away from so easily. 

So, Sylvain remained mostly on his own as they waited and waited to hear from Dimitri. He knew Ingrid and Felix were just worrying about him all over, but he couldn’t help his detachment. There was too much on his mind.

“No.” Dedue’s expression was raw distress. For days, he’d kept watch, training his eyes towards the sky for some hawk or pegasus rider to deliver news. With each passing evening, he slipped deeper into worry. “I should have gone with him.”

“He asked you to bring us here,” Mercedes reminded Dedue, placing one of her hands over his. “You did well. I’m sure he’s just dealing with a lot right now.”

“My father sent a letter yesterday,” muttered Felix. “He said something is going on in Fhirdiad, but nobody has been allowed in or out. They’ve completely locked down. I’m not sure if that is something the boar would typically do.”

“Claude said he intended to have Leicester do that,” said Dedue. “Perhaps His Highness was following the example…”

Sylvain didn’t know what to think. He could only wait and pray just like the rest of them. Despite how harrowing the past couple of months had been, Sylvain felt as though he could handle whatever came as long as he had Dimitri, Felix, and Ingrid. He hated this separation from Dimitri. He hated not knowing what their orders were or what their next move would be. 

“This… is war… right?” Ashe spoke, placing his hands on his face. “So… what are our chances, do you think?”

“They aren’t bad,” said Ingrid with a weak smile. She patted him on the back. “We just need to be smart. We still have the Gautier and Fraldarius territories for sure. I know it’s not much, but I’ve written to my father and asked him to try his best to gather resources. Our Alliance border will be helpful.”

“Mm. We have a few strongholds,” said Annette. “I think the Rowe and Gaspard regions might be in serious trouble though. The Empire is strong enough to overwhelm them now. They’re too close to the western border.” 

Ashe sunk lower in his seat, hanging his head. Annette straightened and shook her hands.

“I-I mean maybe Dimitri has a plan! Ashe, please don’t worry.”

“My little siblings are in Gaspard,” he said quietly. “What will happen to them…”

Sylvain had to turn away; he heard tears in Ashe’s voice and couldn’t bear to look at him. He wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. That made him feel selfish. Ashe had trekked from Garreg Mach to the Gautier Margraviate to help keep Sylvain’s mother safe. So why couldn’t he find something to say to Ashe? Why couldn’t he promise anything? 

The door opened and Lady Gautier stepped into the garden.

“Good,” she said, her voice barely louder than a falling leaf. “You’re all here. I wanted to update you.”

They turned their full attention towards her and she cleared her throat.

“I’ve been exchanging letters with Lord Fraldarius,” she said. “We will be focusing on producing food and resources while his territory takes care of manpower and weapons. On territories will lean on each other entirely. We still do not know what’s happening in Fhirdiad, but… he and I will be voicing our support for Prince Dimitri to be crowned. Reagent Rufus needs to step aside, and Prince Dimitri must become king immediately. That’s the best way to fortify the kingdom and…” She wrung her hands. “We are going to suggest that the Alliance do the same. Archduke Oswald hardly has the strength or charisma for war. Lord Claude should be made Archduke as soon as possible. However… I can’t imagine that the Alliance will take our opinions. Not without Prince Dimitri.” 

“We’ll hear from him soon,” said Ingrid. “We will.” 

“I believe so too.” Phoebe grasped her son’s hand. “There’s a long road ahead but… I am thankful that some trials, at least, have ended.”

Sylvain glanced at her and his free hand inched up towards his hair, where he knew a patch of white was. She was right. A new conflict was beginning. But they’d already passed through one doorway. The two of them were back at home, away from the evils of Shambhala. They’d driven Miklan away from the Margraviate and had alerted the Church to a sinister plot. All things considered, this was an ending just as much as a beginning. 

The Blue Lions sat silently as the cold Faerghus wind rustled the bluebells and lilies. Each of them wore their own expectant expression. They knew dusk had passed and a long, long night was ahead. This war could be over in a year or extend past their lifetimes. But, they would fight. And they would wait for dawn.

Whenever that might be. 

THE END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has supported this fanfiction for 39 chapters. You have all made my day on more than one occasion. It's so crazy to think that this fic was something I started to occupy myself right when I first got quarantined. I'm so glad I saw this project though, and I love looking at how far the story came. It's definitely not perfect; I see dozens of flaws and things I could have portrayed better. But I'm still proud of what I have. 
> 
> For now, my plan is to take a hiatus then reappear at some point with a sequel which covers the post time skip. I have so many ideas about what would change from the canon. 
> 
> I've loved reading your guys' comments and, if/when the sequel crops up, I hope to see you again.
> 
> Best wishes!


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